The Pieces
by LadyoftheLounge
Summary: Sequel to Just a Few More Years and The Ocean Held its Breath. Everyone is trying to recover, but when someone both an old friend and stranger shows up asking for help, the brothers are pulled back into the fray, and must face head on the aftermath of what they endured, along with a new, harrowing challenge.
1. 1

Chris tried in any circumstance to stay positive, or at the very least, stay unswayed, but it was days like these that made him hate the city and how it worked.

He had been stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic for almost half an hour on the freeway, everyone around him honking and shouting as if that would make anything better, and as he finally got to merge over to take his exit, he almos hit someone who was hovering in his blindspot. He missed them, thank goodness, and yet the person was still furious and followed him for three blocks, even getting out of their car at a stoplight and walking up to his window to yell at him, only relenting when Chris threatened to call the police. Then, as Chris turned into his neighborhood, he accidentally ran over a squirrel.

So, he was not having a very good day.

They never usually stayed in the city long. By the time these sorts of things would start to get under his skin, they would already be packing up to leave, but the prospect of that now was uncertain.

They had not parted with New Jersey for three months since they had returned from those baleful beaches of Galveston. Aviva was serious about taking a break, for them and for herself, even though her idea of a break was toiling away in the hangar in New Mexico, bitterly eradicating and replacing all the repairs Paul Hubbard had impermissibly made to the Tortuga. Koki was with family, Jimmy was with friends, and the brothers were with each other, stranded in the one habitat they couldn't stand.

They hadn't really asked Aviva in what time they would resume their usual work. When she dropped them off at home she said that they'd "all know" when they were ready, and everyone had been so traumatized, they agreed on the notion without question. But that blind unanimity was beginning to fade, as the days wore on and the distastefulness of the city grew harder to overlook. Yet, still they did not pester her for release from it. True, a return to the wild would have brought freedom, but it also would have brought risk, danger, and even after three months, everyone was still hesitant to go back to that lifestyle, some certainly more than others.

But again, days like these tested that hesitance. Every step Chris took up the front lawn and across the front porch, feeling the harsh, flat force of his hiking boots against the concrete and old wood, he wished he were instead traversing a terrain that wasn't such a trammel, like a forest floor or a desert dune.

He opened the door, but jumped back in surprise. His mother was standing right there by the doorway, and he almost walked right into her. She seemed distressed, her hand cradling her chin, her forehead wrinkled with worry, and her eyes darting about the floor.

"Geez, you scared me!" Chris said, once his heart had settled. "Is everything okay, mom?"

"Well, I don't know." She said, rocking on her feet. "Someone's here to see you."

_Not more commissioners!_ Chris thought. That was the nickname the crew had come up with for the henchmen of the Raptor Commission, the task force run by that Paul Hubbard, who, like Aviva, had been serious in his parting promise to make things difficult for the crew. The Kratts had endured constant home visits, and Chris knew he was being followed on multiple occasions, once even finding a bug on his laptop - the spying kind of bug, not a living, breathing creature he would've been thrilled to meet. It was looking like these factors would once again pile up and greatly increase his disdain for city living - and yet, his mother continued.

"I don't know who she is, I don't know how she got this address. She - she showed up yesterday too when neither of you were here, and after I told her you weren't home she just left."

Chris pushed passed his mother and moved down the hall.

He pivoted around the corner of the entryway into the kitchen, caught sight of the stranger, and backtracked a bit, so he could peer at her from halfway behind the wall. Her head was on the table wrapped in her arms; she looked up briefly as Chris emerged around the bend, but after scanning him quickly with her dark eyes, she returned to her resting position.

"She said... she was looking for Martin." His mother said. "Do you... know who this is?"

She looked to be in her late teens or early twenties, she had black hair that was both distinctly curving and frizzy, like a puff of smoke, and matching that were two thick, furrowed brows. Chris turned to his mother, and shook his head. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her further away, back towards the front door.

"Chris, what are you doing? Aren't you going to go talk to her?"

"Mom, you can't just let people into the house!" He said. "Not with all this... you know, that's been going on!"

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Honey, I know, but I don't think she's one of them. She just seemed so... sad. Besides, she's not wearing a suit like the others, I think this is something else."

Chris wanted to listen to his mother, but the sequence of events leading up to this moment, and his general restlessness in his situation was making him jittery with temper.

"But still, who is she? And what does she want? It can't be anything good if she's come like... _that_."

"Like what?" His mom snapped. "For all you know she could be a fan, from a troubled home!"

"She's, like, 20. I don't know why she'd need our help."

"Maybe she needs some help related to your work. One of those...creature emergencies."

"Well, we're off duty." He said, bitterly. "She'll have to go somewhere else."

"You try telling her that." His mother said. "Or better yet, go ask her why she's here, instead of pulling me away into this little pow-wow to whisper about your problems! Honestly, you two have gotten so guarded since you came home, you boys really have to work on that."

Chris breathed through his teeth, and wanted to rebut, but he could not find the words. He just rolled his shoulders contemptuously and returned to the girl.

He stormed across the kitchen, and plopped down into a chair across from her.

"Hello." Chris said. She looked up again.

"You're the other one." She said. She had a British accent, but it wasn't quite complete. There were traces of some accent else that Chris couldn't place.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Where's Martin?" She asked.

Chris winced. That was a loaded question.

"I don't know." He admitted.

She put her head back down. "Then we wait."

"I'm sorry, who are you?" Chris snapped. "And what do you want?"

"I'm... Grace." She hesitated with her name. "Your brother knows me."

"Okay, so what do you want from him?"

"Don't know you." She muttered through her folded arms, though it was loud enough to understand. "Don't trust you."

"Seriously?" Chris scoffed.

"I won't say, until he's here. I can't."

"Okay, I'm not the person who just let themselves into _someone's house_ and won't tell any of them _why_."

Her head shot back up, and in that moment, something inexplicable took hold of him. There was a great despair, a great grief, a fear in her eyes, and it reached out and met his own, and the two understood eachother. Well, he didn't understand her. He knew his own grief and what caused it: crashing into the ice, losing Martin, being unable to help, finding him as he was, facing the fearsome Nora, drowning _willingly_, then being stuck here in the city, hounded by Hubbard, with Martin's distance and unwillingness to open up about it all, however much he had been improving over time. Those were his problems. He didn't know her's, he couldn't feel them. But whatever they may be, he could tell in that moment, when their gazes met, that they were equal.

This put a heaviness onto his spirit, like a fire blanket extinguishing his temper. He was still confused and not really trusting of her, but at the very least, he had settled, even if it was into the valley of his own misery.

"Please." Was all she said.

"How do you know my brother?" Chris demanded, though sadly, quietly.

"It was... a long time ago. I hope -" she stared back down at the table, looking concerned, as if she hadn't thought of this yet, "I hope he remembers me."

Chris was baffled by this girl's mannerisms, but it was something he couldn't bring himself to argue with. It was a strange power she had, whether she knew it or not.

Chris was about to stumble through a reply, when his mother caught his attention. She was pointing down towards the front door.

"Chris-" she began, but stopped, only looking down anxiously, as both she and he heard down the hallways the lock on the front door being turned.

Martin came inside with his eyes connected to the floor and his hands connected to the wall, following their planes as he took his paces. He got halfway across the hall before looking up at his mother, as if up until that point it was vital for him to watch his feet with every step they took. He gave her a haggard smile, one that was just following a slight turmoil, but it faded without contest once he processed her distress.

"Someone's... showed up to speak with you." She said.

"Not more Raptors?" See, that was Martin's own specific choice when it came to referring to Hubbard's goonies, he just thought it sounded cooler than Commissioners, though everyone else protested that such a moniker lended them more "coolness" than they deserved. Nonetheless Martin insisted on using it. It should be noted that the Raptors, or Commissioners, themselves were not to keen on being referred to as either.

"No, this is something else entirely." She responded. "We don't know-"

Martin too came into the kitchen, clutching his mother's arm to either reassure her or himself. He crossed the threshold, and recognized the arrival, who had rested her head back on top of her arms, though he took a few seconds to make sure he was not mistaken.

"Shikaar?"

She noticeably flinched. It was a name she hadn't heard in regularity in some time. She had changed her name to something else years ago, and whenever that old title had reared its head, it was only in a moment of weakness or anger from the one person living with her who remembered it, her father. That new association raised an animal dread inside her, that she struggled to suppress as she lifted her eyes to see the one and only person now that she trusted, though she had only met him once. To have to put faith in such a stranger only added to her anxiety.

"I'm... going by Grace now." She said nervously.

"Martin, who is this?" His mother asked him, now returning her son's grasp, though only as he pulled away from her.

"What are you doing here?" He asked.

"I need your help."

"What? With what, where's... where's your father?"

"Martin!" Chris butted in. "Who the heck is this?"

"Shikaar... I told you about her, right?" Martin said. Chris shook his head.

"Martin, please, you have to help me." She rose to her feet. "My dad is missing."

This back and forth was slowly creating a whirlwind of agitation that swept through the whole room.

"Dr. Tendua's been missing for years! So have you!" He replied. This Chris did recall.

"Wait... Dr. Tendua? As in... weird and creepy Dr. Tendua? As in, betrayed you to the leopard stealing guys Dr. Tendua, even though he was the one who brought you there in the first place?"

"बदतमीज!" She angrily cried. Chris lurched backwards, as if she were a cobra who had reared up on him.

Martin finally calmed the storm, reaching across the table to grab the young woman's hand. "Shikaar," he spoke softly, "what's happened to you?"

She took her bleary and enraged eyes from the paralyzed Chris, and let them soften as she turned them to Martin. She sat down, and he with her. Chris remained standing, leaned against a cabinet, his arms crossed. Their mother, in the wake of the tension, finally found it in herself to treat this unexpected guest as mothers do, offering her something to drink, and when she accepted, making Chris go fetch the request. Chris grumbled and set about it as quickly as he dared, but returned to that same cabinet-backed post as soon as he'd set the glass of water in front of her.

She began to tell them her story, starting with that night, that night five years ago. She had been left alone in their house, perplexed. Perplexed as to why Martin had visited after Tendua told her he was leaving, who that large man with the orange mustache was who also stopped by, and why her father went with him, why he seemed so frightful about him, why he turned to look over his shoulder and told her "चिंता मत करो," but why that just made her worry even more. Of course in recounting this she spared the brothers of her own internal details, as well as how the night seemed to drag on as she sat stagnating in her own miserable speculation.

But some time past 4:00 AM her father returned. He seemed...different. He had become this walking bundle of pride, fear, relief, concern, excitement and dread. It was a combination she had never seen before, not in her father or anyone else. He told her -

She began to choke up at this moment. "He told me we had to go, that we had to leave everything behind." She explained. "He had done something terrible, something he had to do, and now we had to leave and hide."

"Well that clears up that mystery." Chris said.

"What'd'ya mean?" Martin asked.

"Who shot that Bruce guy. Wasn't it still up in the air? I think that answers it pretty clearly."

"Maybe." Martin said, honestly a little put off at his brother's bluntness in the presence of this clearly distressed girl.

Shikaar made no input. She was instead thinking still on that night, her confused tears as she had to pack up all her things in preparation to leave her home, her friends, her life behind forever.

"We fled to Europe." She continued between sniffles. "We hopped around from country to country, often times erratically. But eventually, we settled in London for some time." She described their time there, how it was a lonely one - she never attended any schools, he took work as an office temp, and even though they stayed within the city, moving around within it became customary.

But still, London itself, after three years of occupying it, became familiar, a new home. Shikaar herself grew to know the ins and outs of it quite well, and could navigate the underground train systems from memory. It wasn't really so bad, especially since, because they were hiding from something, her father no longer tried to hide from her, and was always still right with her. It was not the strongest or fondest of bonds, no, it couldn't have been in that strained circumstance. But it was better than nothing, and at the very least, she started to understand him, to see where his spark was, especially when they granted themselves the luxury of enjoying the city, and saw all its famous sites and attractions. Her father particularly loved the natural history museums and zoos, his eyes lighting up at all the creatures he got to see.

"It sounds like he still wanted to work with animals." Martin remarked at this. The poor old man, he had that in him all along. "So why didn't he?"

She was put off as she thought of when she likewise asked her father why he didn't simply go back to his work, under a different name, and make that their new life. But he replied with misty eyes that it was his retribution, his punishment for betraying the leopards those years ago.

The poor, tortured, troubled man; he was like a child who felt the joy of playing with a shiny, novel toy, but only once and never again, thus spending the rest of his days being dragged shrieking past the toy shops. He could only see the wondrous things through the windows, and not as they sat in his own tender grasp - only, the hand that wrenched him away from even the fantasy wasn't that of a stern parent, but his own guilty conscience. And, as it is in many strict upbringings, in denial after denial, repression after repression, he began to think there was a good, just reason as to why he was being denied that which he desired, that he did not deserve it.

But in reply to Martin's question, all Shikaar could say was "he was afraid."

"Really? Paul Hubbard was giving you _that_ much grief? He's been on our asses, but it hasn't been that bad." Chris said.

"Well, Aviva's helped with that." Martin said.

Shikaar cocked her head. "Paul Hubbard? Who's that?"

"The head of the Raptor Commission? He wanted to find your father, to get to the bottom of who shot Vincent Bruce." Martin said. "He's not a good person. But that's why you would've been running, right?"

She shook her head. "He never spoke of a Paul Hubbard. That's not who we were running from."

"Well, I'm sure Hubbard never just _introduced_ himself to you, he... at least tries to be secretive."

"No, we knew who it was." She said. "The person's name was," she paused and stared off blankly into the table, "Odyssia."

Chris and Martin looked at eachother.

"Odyssia?" Chris asked. "Is that even a real name?"

"Probably not." Martin retorted.

"About ten years ago," Shikaar explained, "my father said he got an email from a person going by that name, claiming to be a biologist on the verge of a scientific breakthrough, the - creation of life."

Chris mouthed at Martin, _that's what Aviva_ _said_. He was referring to Aviva and Koki's own discovery when they were down in the facility that imprisoned Martin. That was the unformed beast in the test tube, composed of the same black metallic ooze that was responsible for the takedown of the Tortuga, as well as what the supposedly deceased Nora Donovan was armed with. This revelation sent shivers down Martin's spine.

"What was that?" Asked Shikaar, who had spotted Chris' wordless message but could not read it.

"Nothing," Martin said, "carry on."

"Anyways, my father was surprised that this Odyssia would choose an unknown like him to help with their work, but nonetheless he was thrilled to be a part of the project - that is, well, until Vincent Bruce showed up, said he was working for Odyssia, and in their name forced my father to help them capture leopards."

"He never told me that part of the story." Martin said.

"He only told me one year into living in London." She said. "He did everything in his power to get away from them, but..." her tears resumed, "about four weeks ago, he got another email from Odyssia, even though he had changed all of his contacts and accounts, they still reached him, and they said they'd found him, and were coming for him. We had to leave London." She wiped her eyes. "We went to Scotland instead, to this small town far north and on the coast. It was so secluded and... lovely. Everyone was nice, and it was the kind of place where anyone was welcome. It should've been perfect, but... only after three days of living there, we left, he in a panic, and returned to London. I don't know why we-" she trailed off and into her tears.

"Shikaar-"

"But then, as soon as we got back, he just left me in a hotel saying," she said between sobs, "that he was going back to the Píosaí - sorry, that's the town we left - because he had left something behind - an old ID or something, and he-" She said. "But he... never came back."

Martin and Chris stared at her in silence. Her face had become blank and emotionless, like she had used up all her humanity for the moment. "He left me with 200 and told me that... if he didn't return in a week, I would 'know where to go.'" She looked up, her human sorrow returning. "But I didn't. We had cut all ties with our old friends and family, and he was adamant that we keep it that way. He was distrustful too of the police, rambling on and on about how he swore they were somehow in Odyssia's pocket. I had no one to turn to, nowhere to go, and all I could think about -" her pleading voice wavered, as she stared desperately into Martin's eyes, "was you!" She reached back across the table and gripped his folded hands. "Please - you have to help me find him."

Martin sighed.

He too had been having a terrible day, though it was for different reasons from his brother. Martin had been affected, negatively, terribly, by all that had happened to him. The first few nights back home were hell, marred by nightmares and panic attacks and terrible restlessness. He knew he was worrying his family, so he, without telling them, sought a psychiatrist to help him get over his trauma. It was working, if slowly, however today's session had opened up some really bad memories, and he spent the last moments of the appointment in a panicked fit on the floor, not really recovering until a while after their appointment was supposed to be over, which delayed the therapist's meetings with his other patients. As much as this doctor had reassured Martin that his health and wellbeing was a priority, and that recovery was not linear, nonetheless Martin left feeling embarrassed.

He didn't think he was ready to get involved in something like this. He was even nervous about returning to regular work, worried they'd encounter some wild goat species of some kind and he'd have to hide behind a rock and cry. He knew how unhappy Chris was here in the city, and the last thing he wanted was to keep him there, but at the same time, Martin was still in pieces, and well aware of it too.

And yet -

Something about Shikaar struck a chord with Martin. They had both been grabbed and dragged into this state of great misery by the same villains, only Martin had the advantage of being surrounded by friends and family who, even if they didn't get the full picture, were still here, and supportive. Shikaar, meanwhile, was all alone.

"Chris, private meeting?" Martin asked.

"Yep." Said Chris, removing his arms from their fold and bouncing off the cabinet he rested against. Martin rose from his chair, and the two scurried off to a beneath-the-stairs closet.

"We have to help her." Martin began.

"What? Martin, are you serious?" Chris said.

"I can't just turn her down like this!"

"Martin, this sounds like a job for the _police_."

"You know we can't do that, Paul Hubbard has his eyes and ears on everything. As soon as we report this, he'll be all over it, and she won't have the same excuses we did to get her out of trouble."

"Yeah, well, maybe that's a good thing." Chris said. "Her dad did _shoot a guy_."

"Yeah, but she didn't!"

"Okay," Chris whispered sharply, "so why help him? Why not just help her? Why not hook her up with a job somewhere here, we have enough connections in the city to do that! We can help her start her life over how she wants to!"

"You really want to tell her that, to just give up on her father?"

"Yeah, it sounds like she was pretty sick of running."

Martin rubbed his forehead. "Tendua's a good man." He said.

"Since when? All I remember about him was how he put my brother in danger!"

"He was in a difficult situation!" Martin said. "He was trying to stop the poachers!"

"I just... sorry, I can't forgive him for turning you in like that, and leaving you to fix everything."

"He shot Vincent Bruce. That was a pretty good fix."

Chris sighed. "I still don't like this."

"I don't either. Believe me, I don't. But think of this - we've been the only people having to deal with Hubbard, with these weird poacher, scientist people. If we find Dr. Tendua, we'll have another ally in this fight!"

"But is this really a fight we want to keep up?" Chris asked.

"You're not telling me _you_ want to just run away?" Martin replied.

"I... guess not. I'm scared of that they might do to... us. I don't want anyone else getting hurt."

"People are going to get hurt anyways." Martin said. "Innocent people. Entire ecosystems are at stake for what this Odyssia has accomplished. I'm really scared too, but... no one else is going to do something about it." Martin shrugged. "Besides, it's not like we're going to storm their main headquarters or anything. We're just looking for a guy."

This put a slight smile on Chris. "I guess you're right. Okay, let's do it, on one condition:" he said, stopping Martin before he rushed out of the closet. "We bring in the rest of the crew too. I don't want us to get in over our heads."

"Heard loud and clear, bro." Martin grinned. He was actually quite relieved at this stipulation. In fact, this whole prospect was growing fonder in his sights, because part of him was thinking, if he could find Tendua, he could get answers, as to what was going on, and perhaps that could help him finally close this harrowing chapter on his life. This was made even sweeter by the promise of their good friends being there to see him along the way.

.

.

.

"Absolutely not." Was Aviva's response.

Chris blinked. "Seriously?"

They were on a video call; she was working on something mechanical, probably an internal component to the Tortuga Chris had never seen before. She put down the screwdriver in her hand.

"Hubbard is breathing down my neck enough as is, without us running off to look for a man who's critical to his case!" She said. "You really want that added pressure?"

"No, but," Chris scrunched up his shoulders, "we shouldn't turn our back on an innocent man just because of that."

Aviva raised a brow. "You really think he was _innocent?"_

"I mean, he did some good things. He killed Vincent Bruce, right?"

"We don't know that for sure." She said. "Chris, this really sounds like a job for the police."

Chris breathed through his teeth. She was making all the points he had, and they still were good ones. Chris didn't have the advantage with Aviva that Martin did with him, so outside of that Chris didn't really know how to argue with himself.

"If you two wanna go running after this guy, that's your prerogative." Aviva remarked.

"Aviva, but-"

"Chris, I haven't finished the repairs on the Tortuga yet. I can't just drop everything to go on a manhunt with you!"

"And what happened to doing everything as a team?" Chris snapped, though he regretted it after the sour look she gave in response.

"Chris, this isn't the _team's_ job. I don't know this guy, I certainly don't like this guy, so I'm sure as heck not gonna risk my neck him! Look, obviously I can't keep you from going, but don't be surprised if everything goes wrong!"

"Aviva, wait-"

She hung up.

Chris groaned, slapping the now inactive creature pod against his forehead.

_My conditions can't be met. So now what?_

Chris slinked into the kitchen, where Martin and Shikaar were waiting. He was reassuring her, that they'd all set out, that they'd all find her father. She looked... guarded, maybe a little unimpressed, despite being so clearly shaken with worry and guilt.

_Maybe it's not worth it._ He thought. _After all, we're still resting from the last big misadventure. We don't need a new one!_

But Chris saw something in his brother there that he hadn't in a while. It was energy, a drive, a spark of life, something he had briefly forgotten the feel of.

Besides, Chris liked mysteries. So why turn down this one?

Chris joined the pair at the table.

"So, what's the word on the team?" Martin asked, grinning big.

"They're not coming." Chris said.

"What?" Martin's smile dropped.

"Aviva was a sure no, and I called the other two before her and they didn't pick up. Looks like it's just us three."

"Wait... you're still coming?"

"Against better judgement, yes." He sighed. "Besides, you were probably going to run off to do it on your own anyways, and I wasn't about to let that happen."

Martin chuckled. He actually wasn't planning to run off without his brother. He would have redirected Shikaar elsewhere, and stayed home. But if Chris was going back on his word like this, he wasn't going to complain.

"Glad to have you on board." Martin said, putting his hand on his brother's back. "I know this isn't something we do, but... I need closure."

"I get that. Of course."

"And finding an innocent man who could be in danger." Shikaar butted in. "You're in this for that too, _right?"_

Martin nodded, but Chris tensed uncomfortably. He was here for Martin, through and through, but he wasn't sure how much of this standoffish girl he'd be able to tolerate, now that the potent but brief connection they'd made had passed.

"Plus, you know, Dr. Tendua was a great researcher of the creature world. Finding him and getting him back into a job that suits him would be a _major_ win for the conservationist effort." Martin pointed out.

"Huh? Oh yeah, for sure." Chris chimed.

"So, what's out first move?" Martin said.

"Obviously," Chris said, getting a bit of his wiseacre air back, "we start out with the town he returned to - what was it... P- Pizza?" This demeanor was of course quite shattered when he failed to remember the name of the town, and sputtered out the closest thing that came to mind. Shikaar glared disdainfully, but Martin cracked up.

"What, are you turning into Jimmy now?" He laughed.

"It's _Píosaí_." Shikaar corrected. "It's a secluded town in the far north of Scotland, surrounded by bushes and mountains."

"Oh, lovely!" Chris said. "I've always wanted to go to the highlands!"

"Yeah, the moors aren't a habitat a lot of people talk about." Said Martin. "But it actually has a wonderfully diverse ecosystem that's-"

"We're looking for my father." Shikaar said. "Not animals."

Chris could see Martin get a little sad at being interrupted and shot down like that, so he cut in. "Okay, ground rules. We are _zoologists_, not _detectives_. You don't get to fault us for that."

"Whatever." Shikaar sank into her chair. She had grown older, but it looked like she hadn't yet matured out of her crabby temperament.

"Come on, Chris, let's go find a flight." Martin said, putting his hand on Chris' shoulder, as if to say, _don't worry about me_, or maybe, _let's just leave it_, or perhaps, _she's been through enough, go easy on her? _In that moment, he couldn't read his brother all that well. Perhaps it was all three being conveyed.

"Alright." Chris said. "Alright."


	2. 2

For some reason, Martin slept better on the long plane ride to Britain than he had in his own bed. Something about the duration, the dim lights, the sounds of cutting through the sky lulled him thoroughly, and dispelled his recently unrelenting condition of restlessness. He was out within ten minutes of takeoff, and woke only twice from then on: the first time was in a cold sweat - the way the chair was reclined conjured an unwanted memory in his dreams - and while he couldn't see all too well, he could tell Chris was curled up in as tight a ball as he could be within the seat's restraints, facing Martin, with his head just touching the edge of Martin's seat. It was comforting, and Martin fell right back asleep. The second time he woke he woke for good. This time Chris was responsible, he was frantically poking Martin's arm.

"Martin! Martin, they're serving out breakfast." Chris said, though his wide eyes made it seem like he had woken Martin to tell him the plane was on fire. Martin blinked blearily and stretched. The attendants handing out breakfast had just started, and were all the way at the front of the plane, whereas Martin, Chris and Shikaar were well towards the back.

"Chill out, we have a while," commented Shikaar, who had removed her headphones to hear what Chris' commotion was all about.

But Martin sat up anyways, because they were landing soon, and breakfast was even sooner, so there was no point in trying to get more sleep.

"So, uh, how was the flight for you?" Martin was compelled to say after they had left the plane, and were crossing the ramped, white hallways towards customs. This was how he had decided to check in on Chris, and make sure he was alright.

"What, you think I haven't flown before? I took a plane to get to you guys, you know." Shikaar glowered.

"What? No, that's not what I-"

"I mean, it was kinda nice traveling with white people."

Martin slouched forward uncomfortably, which made his stride stagger. "What?" He asked.

"Security gave me a hard time when it was just me. I guess they thought I was a terrorist or something." She brushed her hair out of her face.

"Oh, you just gotta ignore guys like that," Martin said flimsily.

She shot him a sour look. "It's airport security. _You_ try ignoring them."

Martin bit his cheek and straightened his back, dropping the subject. Chris, the whole time, had been silent.

"How was it for you, Chris?" Martin asked.

"Fine," Chris said, clearly lying, clearly exhausted. "I didn't sleep a wink though."

This saddened Martin. When he saw Chris curled up like that he assumed he was asleep, not trying and failing to. It made a bit of sense, since Chris was never really able to sleep on planes before, but it did cause him to wonder why Chris had assumed such a curled-up, tense position if he was either trying to relax and rest or had given up on doing so.

But Martin had to drop the thought, because the time came for them to navigate the airport and their subsequent means of transportation.

The train ride they took was even longer than the flight - 15 hours in total - so Chris had ample time to make up lost rest, but he did not use it. Instead, noticing that Shikaar could not hear anything whatsoever through her headphones, and was engrossed in a magazine, he grabbed Martin by the shoulder and reeled him in slightly.

"Martin, what do you know about Dr. Tendua?"

"What?"

"I tried doing research on him to know what we're getting into, but all I could find was that he's a normal zoologist who did normal research. Didn't really find anything useful in his essay _'Eudynamys Scolopaceus's Unique Frugivorous Diet in Comparison to Other Specimens of Cuculiformes and How it Affects its Role in the Indian Ecosystem as a Brood Parasite.'_ Yes, that was the actual title of the essay, and yes, all his essays are like that."

"Woof."

"Not much character insight in there, aside from his horrid lack of concision, but from what little I remember that wasn't exactly a problem with him in person."

"Yeah, not really."

Chris leaned against the tray table of the cabin, accidentally scotching his elbow against the plastic cup that was sitting there, causing the tonic in it to slosh out. "So, what actually was his deal?" Chris asked, wiping his elbow off onto his pants, then replacing it on the table, this time a cautious inch from the cup. "I remember you told me about him, but... that was my freshman year in college, and I felt super swamped, so I only held on to the exciting parts of that story."

"What do you want to know?" Martin asked, unsure of what Chris classified as _exciting_.

"Like, where did he come from? How did you meet him? Why did he do what he did?"

Martin lip trilled. "He was a colleague of one of my professors at Duke. They're the one who contacted me, actually, saying they had a friend in India who needed help on a small research project. When I looked at Tendua's data, the situation seemed more dire than how my professor made it come across, so I called Tendua at once, arranged the trip and met him there."

"Wow." Chris said. "Hasty."

"I was young and reckless." Martin sighed, folding his arms and leaning back into his chair.

"_Younger_ and more _reckless_, more like," Chris chuckled.

"I'm not proud of it, but I wanted to help the leopards."

"And you did."

"So did he," Martin pointed out. Chris raised an eyebrow.

"I don't buy that."

Martin swiveled slightly to face Chris. "Why not? He pulled me in for a reason, his research project was a cry for help. He shot Vincent Bruce after all, didn't he?"

"I dunno, his plan just seemed really convoluted. I can't make sense of it."

Martin rolled back away. "He was really scared of Bruce, or, whoever else he was working with. He never told me anything about this Odyssia, so I reckon he was even more scared of them. Besides, there's one character trait you should've picked up on from those long-ass essay titles."

Chris cocked his head slightly. "What?"

"He's an over-thinker. Gets in his own head, to the point where he can't see the most obvious solutions." Martin glanced at Chris teasingly from the corner of his eye. "Reminds me of someone_ I _know."

In a huff, Chris plopped back down into his seat.

.

.

.

The closest they could get to Píosaí by train was a town called Ullapool. From there, they had to hire a driver to take them through the winding roads along the moor.

It was dark and foggy, but not like any dark and foggy Martin had ever experienced. The only thing you could see out the front windshield was a small half-circle of silver along the bottom, where the headlights met the road before dissipating into the all-encompassing unanimous grey. It was even more nerve-wracking to drive along the left side of the road, being in Britain and all - there were many times when his heart almost leapt from his chest because he thought they were going to go off the road or crash into an oncoming vehicle, but it always turned out to be an illusion of perspective and obscurity. When they did finally reach the town Martin only caught glimpses of things, edges, dark outlines, like geometric phantoms warping in and out of the thick veil. Martin knew they were probably mundane things - lampposts, street signs, building corners - but the inability to see them fully made Martin dread whatever might be found should the veil be lifted, and the face of the city be truly revealed.

For a moment it had seemed like they'd passed the town. All mysterious forms had ceased teasing out their borders, as if they were actual ghosts who had decided to finally hide away into the night, and let the observer's own imagination torment him as he navigated the void. The road became a dirt one, and both Martin and Chris clung to their armrests at the grinding of the gravel beneath them, and then - they stopped, seemingly arriving nowhere.

"This is it," said the driver, who for the whole rest of the drive had said nothing.

They all timidly slunk from the car. Martin was hit with a wall of wet and cold; fog was so thick that it instantly condensed on his face and in his nostrils. He wiped his forehead and water drops rolled off his hand. And still they could see nothing.

"Spooky," Martin said, feeling Chris nervously huddle up to him. They could see each other if they wanted to, but they instead looked around, their overactive minds making them fear that something dangerous and fantastical might leap at them from the fog.

"Good luck to ya, mates." Said the driver in his Scottish drawl, pulling their luggage out of the trunk. "No one hears from anyone who lives in this town. There're rumors that anyone who goes in never comes out."

Martin gulped, and Chris leaned into Martin's shoulder harder. Shikaar rocked nervously on her feet.

The driver laughed. "Ah! Here'a comes someone now." He pointed his finger up and into the fog. Everyone turned in that direction, their blood running cold.

Sure enough, a faint orange circle was approaching through the fog. As it grew closer, it became evident that it was light from a lantern, as it swung back and forth, and began to trace the edges of its forthcoming carrier.

"Must be the innkeeper." Chris shivered.

"Hey-oh! Are you the Kratts?" Came a voice from that emerging figure.

Martin flinched a bit. It was not the kind of voice he was expecting. It was light, cheerful, womanly, and weirdest of all, American, with a distinct southern touch to it.

"Yes!" Chris called, relaxing off of Martin's back, also perplexed by this unexpected character.

She came into view.

"Quite the weather for y'all to roll up in!" she chattered.

"You're not Scottish," was all Martin could say.

"Sharp y' are! Born and raised in Tennessee, I am, but man, I just couldn't resist this!" She gestured to the fog about her in a pause, and then laughed. Martin and Chris joined in, nervously.

"Looks like you Americans have eachother now, you won't be needin' me. So, if you will..." remarked the driver.

"Oh, yeah. Right," Chris said. He pulled himself aside to pay the man, while Martin continued to survey their new host.

She was a robust, maybe even somewhat rotund person, somewhere between her late 40s or late 50s, with voluminous, faintly ginger hair. She was dressed as if it were Sunday morning, with a pink floral blouse and matching dress skirt, a white cardigan over it, and white flats. Martin wondered how she was not cold, as he was bundled up in a hat and scarf and fleece jacket and was still shivering like a wet puppy.

She extended a meaty hand, and Martin took it to shake. She had a startlingly firm grasp that felt like it could've yanked Martin to the ground with little effort.

"Joann Walsh, pleased to make yer acquaintance!" She shook his hand vigorously.

"Martin Kratt, uh... hi." He was taken off guard by her energy in contrast with the somber surroundings.

"Oh, Martin, eh? The reservation was made under Chris! He must be the little one over there."

"Sorry?" Chris said, turning from the driver whom he had finished paying and who was getting back into his car.

"Oh, pay no mind, honey, ye'r cute as a pie!" She shook his hand too.

"...Thanks." He said slowly, unsure how to politely respond to the contumely.

"And Grace dear, look at you! I wasn't expecting you to come back!" Instead of shaking her hand, Joann gave the girl an enormous hug. Martin was expecting Shikaar to recoil or fight, but instead she practically melted into it.

"Wait, you two know eachother?" Chris asked.

"Course! Everybody who passes through this here town knows me, I'm like the momma hen." She giggled, releasing Shikaar. "Now, let's get y'all poor little things out of this fog, alrighty? Come on, now, come on!"

They followed her up a trail and through the black, her orange halo being their only guiding light.

Slowly, a house appeared from the dark. In the fog it looked formidable, malefic, ominous. It was old, made of wood and stone, and you could hear it creaking and groaning into the marsh.

Joann walked up the old sighing steps and through the door, and trepidatiously, the boys followed.

They passed through a small closed atrium that turned sharply and unreasonably to the right before coming into a small, crowded living room.

It was darkly and warmly lit, with dominating shades of brown and red and beige. There was no overhead light, only floor lamps and table lamps shaded with tinted glass or cloth canvas. There were about five different kinds of chairs, two sofas, and four coffee tables, all of which were draped with some kind of sheet or quilt or fringed fabric. The tables, along with the shelves of a large bookcase that covered the rest of the wall they had come in through, were adorned with various porcelain and metal antiques. There were about six clocks of different shapes and sizes, from a large grandfather clock to an ornate cuckoo clock to a small clock encased in cut crystal. Each of their ticks had a different pace and timbre, accompanying the quiet classical music which was coming from an old radio. There was, most conspicuously, taxidermy, and lots of it: ducks mounted on the wall, a Muntjac in the corner, a pheasant on the bookcase, and the head of a fallow deer upon the mantle of the room's centerpiece, a large stone fireplace. Also on the wall was an ornate hunting rifle, hung with enough reverence to suggest it alone had killed every animal in here. The brothers eyed it all uncomfortably, with Martin taking a particularly intense displeasure with the deer head.

Joann noticed. "Oh, don't tell me y'all are squeamish! It's okay, they can't do y'all no harm, they're dead."

"We're Zoologists," Chris said, bluntly.

Joann stared, mouth wordlessly agape, blinking deliberately for a time, before only uttering, "ah." She turned to look at the floor for nothing, as if somehow her sensibilities were the ones that had been offended.

A young man in a sweater-vest emerged from one of the other two doors into the room. He was handsome, with wavy sandy brown hair all brushed in swoops to one side, and a long square jaw.

"'The guests are here, eh Ma?" he said, sharing Joann's accent.

"This is my son Rodger," Joanne said, placing a hand on the young man's shoulder. He smiled the way Martin had observed most frat guys to smile - big yet shallow all the same, more like a grimace than anything. "Say," she said with a glint in her eye, "you boys are about the same age, aren't'cha?"

Chris and Martin glanced at each other, thinking roughly the same amused thought.

_What, is she trying to arrange a playdate or something?_

To their morbid delight, that wasn't too far from the truth.

"Rodger, why don't you get our guests something to drink? What do y'all want, coffee? Tea?"

Martin and Chris stammered over eachother.

"No, uh-"

"We're fine, really-"

"We're all good here-"

"It's late, so if you don't mind-"

"Oh, I see, I see, no worries." She smiled. "Y'all wanna get your beauty sleep if you wanna find this girly's father."

Shikaar started. "How did you... know about that?"

Joann rolled her shoulders casually. "I assumed it was why you'd be here! Such a curious thing it was, he - bless his heart - came back saying he saw a Scottish Wildcat in the moor, went out to look for it and didn't return!"

Everyone's jaws dropped.

"_What_." Shikaar said.

"Oh, is something wrong?" She asked innocently.

"He... told me he had left a personal item behind he needed to get back, not... go hunting for wild cats!"

"Oh, that is peculiar." Joann said.

Shikaar stared at the floor, furiously searching her mind. _Why did he lie? Why did he leave? Why was I left behind?_

"A Scottish Wildcat?" Martin exclaimed, cutting off Shikaar's troubled train of thought. "_Here?_"

Joann blinked. "Is that a big deal?" She asked.

"Uh, _yeah!"_ Chris cut in. "Scottish Wildcats are, like, one of the most endangered animals there are, with only 100 or so _individuals_ left in the wild, none of which are _here!"_ He looked excitedly to Martin. "Or so we thought!"

"This could be a _really_ big deal!" Martin replied.

"Still, it's nothing I'd leave my daughter behind for!" Said Joann.

But Shikaar had thought about it, and that was not what she was mad about. She would have been totally fine if she was left alone in the city while her father returned to his work - in fact, she'd be glad for it! She would get time back in the place she'd come to love, and he might finally be relieved from those self-imposed manacles that barred him from pursuing his beloved natural world. It would've worked out best for the both of them.

So then, the question still was:

_Why did he lie?_

"Oh well, I'm sure y'all will sort this thing out! It's what you're here for, after all!" Joann continued, giving Shikaar a half-hug.

"Right! Of course!" Chris stammered, still awestruck at the revelation that they could be in the midst of one of the world's rarest creatures.

"Well then!" Joann clapped. "Get you off to bed now, since it's so _late._ Rodger, show them their rooms, if you would. I have some business to attend to."

Chris had made the reservation for their stay by phone, and whoever he talked to - which certainly wasn't Joann, or Rodger - told him that people come and go constantly, even without reservation, so the three could only be put in whatever "was available." Chris normally would have argued, or looked for something better, but this place was_ the only_ lodging in town, and the town itself was so remote, he could not find anything else within a reasonable distance. Chris could only hope for the best as they were led up the narrow, creaky, carpeted stairs and to their lodging. Turns out, they each had a room to themselves. Chris' room was right at the start of the also narrow, creaky, carpeted hallway, with Shikaar's being right next to his, but Martin's was the room furthest away, and on the opposite wall.

_Interesting arrangement_, Chris thought.

"Alright, we have two bathrooms on this floor and one downstairs, they lock from the inside. Breakfast starts at 7:00 AM and ends at 9:30 AM," Rodger handed them the keys.

"Hey, Shikaar, wanna switch rooms?" Martin asked.

"Yes." She said, glaring at Chris.

Rodger winced. "Oof, I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"What? Why not?" Martin asked.

"It's my mom, it's... it's not a big deal, really, she's just kinda got this thing about who stays in that room." He pointed at Martin's room. "My dad died in there."

"Oh." Martin shuddered slightly. "I'm sorry."

Rodger waved his hand. "Eh, it was a while ago, I really don't remember it. But anyways, she thinks his ghost haunts that room, so she doesn't wanna put girls or couples in there because she thinks it would be 'indecent.'"

"Oh." Martin said.

"I know, it's weird. But she's a sensitive woman, you know?"

"I mean... if that's what helps her grieve, then..." Martin said. He looked at Chris, who shrugged.

"Thanks for understanding, guys, I appreciate it." He winked. "Goodnight!" Rodger headed back down the stairs.

Shikaar chuckled indignantly. "Okay, grieving or no, I am _not_ trading rooms with Martin. I don't mess with ghost stuff."

"I just don't believe in it." Chris said. "But I'll admit, this house feels creepy."

"Probably all the animal heads," Martin said, opening his room. "Oh thank god, there are none in mine."

"Lucky." Chris replied, after entering his room to discover a stuffed hare on his nightstand. "Yuck."

They spent a few minutes unloading their things.

Shikaar and Martin were less meticulous in their unpacking process, so they both funneled into Chris' room to discuss the plan for the morning.

"We'll ask around town. See if anyone knows anything." Said Chris, who was kneeling over his open suitcase. "If this place is as small and tight-knit as I think it is, I'll bet word travels fast."

"Works for me." Shikaar said. "I'm going to bed. I'll wake up at 8:00 AM or so. Bye." She retreated into her room.

"She's..." Chris started.

"She's a character." Martin said. "She'll warm up to you, I promise."

"She's somehow really direct _and_ secretive all at the same time." Chris pulled a shirt out of his case.

"Yeah. Reminds me of her father."

"Which begs the question, is she trustworthy?" Chris asked.

Martin felt a chill go down his spine. He hadn't thought about it. _Then again,_ he reassured himself, _I don't need to._

"Come on, what would she even do?" Martin asked in a whisper, well aware that the walls in this old house were probably thin, and Shikaar was right next door. "What would she even have to gain?"

"I'll bet you asked yourself the same questions about Tendua."

Martin bit his lip. "Honestly, Chris, she's really harmless."

"Yeah, yeah, alright." Chris said. He pulled out a little phone he had bought to use while the Tortuga was being fixed and the Creature Pod systems were down. He frowned.

"What's wrong, bro?" Martin asked.

"There's no service here. There wasn't any for the last part of the drive. I was supposed to call mom when we made it safely, but I can't."

"Is it because we're abroad?" Martin asked. "I had heard somewhere that you have to get like a SIM card in another country for your phone to work."

"No, that's just to keep your rates from going up like crazy. I should still at least have service."

Martin shrugged. "This place's gotta have wifi."

"Lemme check." Chris tapped on the phone screen a few times. "Nope."

"No password-protected networks?"

"No networks at all." Chris said. "We're totally isolated. Might as well be in the middle of Kodiak. Only, we're in a regular old bed and breakfast."

"I wouldn't call this place _regular."_ Martin scoffed.

Chris chuckled, rising to his feet. "So, what's _your_ room like?"

"Pretty much like this." Martin said. "What you'd expect a grandma's house to look like if she was a serial killer."

Chris stifled a forceable laugh. "Right? Agh, I didn't want to say anything because I didn't want to be rude."

"Dude, I don't know if that scary-ass foggy drive is getting to me, but if she stabbed us in our sleep, I would not be surprised."

The two snickered with each other.

"Alright, man I gotta go to sleep, I'm pooped." Martin yawned.

"You go right ahead, I'm going to shower first."

"Do one of these bathrooms even have a shower?" Martin asked.

"One of them _has_ to."

Martin grinned. "I mean, with all this rain and fog they probably don't need showers." He winked as his brother chuckled. "Alright, goodnight bro. Don't get murdered."

"You too." Chris said through a busy smile.

Chris was glad to see Martin like this, joking, beaming, enjoying life, unburdened by his lingering sorrows. It must have a potent positive influence, though, because once Chris found himself alone, his morbid humor escalated to genuine terror, heightened when he found the bathroom with the shower, and picked up on a pungent stench of raw and rotten meat.

_Good god, what have we gotten ourselves into?_

And the thought remained with him throughout the night.


	3. 3

3

Chris' late-night worries were dispelled by the morning sun along with the fog. The intruding light woke him before his alarm had the chance to, and he was drawn up from his bed towards that glowing window. Chris cast aside the thin curtains, curious to see what sort of world was no longer obscured from him.

His vantage point was from some hill or mountain, and he could see golden crests of grassland sloping from him, following the turns of a road he recognized as his once benighted route. A mile or so down was the town itself, a beautiful little village, nestled in the fork of a river, the two branches of which went towards the inn on either side of it, disappearing from sight before either stream got nearby. The waters sparkled almost blindingly along with the white plaster and glossy stone walls of the buildings below. He examined them for a time - he could identify clearly a small cathedral, something that looked like old barracks, winding rows of white townhouses, and a stone wall around all of it. He noted he could not see any cars, not coming, going or resting in the town, but it appeared to him that the streets down there were too narrow for any cars, as all the buildings were compact and close together.

Chris withdrew from the window and got ready for the day.

_So, where is breakfast?_ He thought, stepping out of his room. _And is Martin awake?_

He went over to Martin's door and knocked. No response.

"Martin?" He asked, knocking again. Still nothing.

He must be awake then, and at breakfast. He thought.

As he turned back to head down the hallway, Shikaar emerged from her room. She was wearing the same grey hoodie from yesterday.

"Where's Martin?" She asked.

"Awake already, apparently." Chris replied. "Good morning to you too."

She gave him a snarky smile. "You're an asshole. I appreciate that."

Chris shot at her a half-puzzled, half-annoyed look, thinking, _well, you're an asshole too,_ but not saying it. "Alrighty. You wouldn't happen to know where breakfast is, would you?"

Shikaar clearly had an insult of her own she wanted to fire back at him, but she too kept it to herself, instead saying, "Yeah, of course, I stayed here last time."

Chris followed her down the stairs and through that unsightly living room. They entered through a door he hadn't noticed the first time, likely because it was tucked in the back corner and behind a large leather armchair. Beyond it was a hallway extending to their left with three other doors, one right across from where they emerged, one on the other end of the hall, and another, the only one open, at the halfway point. It was past that open door where breakfast was being held.

The farthest wall of the room was just one big glass window with kelly green muntins, and it gave the space a refreshing glow. Through the window he could see what was on the other side of the house, the part of the property functioning as a farm. There were pens with chickens and goats, and, further on, an immense garden, which clearly had a good amount of plant varieties, but in its forefront was a row of tall shrubs, with weltering leaves and dark berries.

There were a few round tables, half were empty. At one sat a chipper young couple, who had been in a very enthusiastic conversation until Chris and Shikaar stepped in, which made them stop and eye the arrivals with an almost childish awe. He saw the woman mouth to the man, _the others,_ and they retracted their stares and giggled at one another.

At another table was an old man in a cricket cap with a mug of coffee and plate of only remnant crumbs. He was reading a newspaper, and glanced up at the two's arrival, but went indifferently and immediately back to his reading.

Martin was there, at the table furthest from the massive window. He had his laptop out, and was typing away at something. He was not so easily stirred from his business as the other patrons were, and only looked up when Chris called his name.

"Hey! Mornin'." He said, sleepily stretching his neck. Chris could hear the joints pop all the way from where he stood. He looked unkempt and exhausted.

"How long have you been here?" Chris asked, pulling out a chair, and grabbing the mug Martin had with him, noting it was three-quarters empty of coffee. Martin snatched it back, but set it down sheepishly.

"An hour." Replied Joann Walsh, as she entered from the second door in the room, which put her in this small kitchen space in the back corner. She leaned over the island countertops. "He came in here as soon as it was open." She shook her head as she spoke. "You're boy's busy, busy!"

"What've you been up to?" Chris asked.

"Couldn't sleep." Martin yawned. "Came down here as soon as I could because I felt cramped in my room."

"So you have wifi?"

"What? No. There's still none."

"I hope you don't mind, we're a little traditional down here." Joann cut in. "Lets us be one with nature, and all that."

"...Right." Chris said, thinking, _oh, like you're the one who's "one with nature," miss taxidermy! Keep telling yourself no wifi does that for you._ "So, what are you working on?"

Martin shut the laptop. "Nothing. It's nothing."

Chris raised an eyebrow.

"It doesn't matter, you guys are here now. It was nothing, really! I just needed something to occupy myself with while I waited for you to wake up."

"That's sad." Shikaar said.

"That's_ jet lag_." Martin argued, though Chris could see a motion in his brother's baggy eyes that suggested something else was at work here.

Before he could pursue it though, Joann came up to the table. "So what can I get for y'all?" She asked.

The group ordered their breakfast and ate it; eggs, sausages, baked beans and toast with homemade jam. It was warm and delicious, and made them nostalgic for a home they had never experienced - not to say it put their real home to shame, it was just something warm and wonderful and unfamiliar. As they ate, they discussed a plan for the day. They would walk into town and ask around if anyone had seen Tendua. Of course, their priority was getting in contact with the local law enforcement - Shikaar was unhappy about this, but Martin pointed out that there's no way the cops of a town this isolated would be in any big shadowy organization's pocket. She looked sullen and muttered, " एक रास्ता जरूर होता है."

"Thank you for breakfast, Joann, it was lovely." Martin said.

"You darlin's are welcome! I'm telling you though, it would be better if y'all just organized a search party and went out into the moor! I'm good at putting that kind of thing together." She winked. This was her third time bringing this up throughout breakfast.

"That's very generous of you, but we really would like to touch all our bases." Chris said.

Joann shrugged. "Suit yourself! Just don't be surprised if everyone else you talk to agrees with me."

.

.

.

After about 30 minutes walking, they arrived at the village Chris had seen from his window. It was all very medieval, with wattle and daub houses and high-peaked brick roofs. No street was perpendicular to another; they all crossed at acute or obtuse angles, whether it was a secluded alleyway or a main drag. Hanging planters of pansies dropped from almost every window, and light and drifting people strolled about, faces unmarred by any negative or even neutral emotions. It all seemed unreal, so ideal, not just something from a forgotten time, but something that could never have existed at all, because everyone was merry and carefree, despite a hazy sky. They all looked up at the passing trio and gave them a smile and a wave, as if they were old friends, with some even saying hello to Shikaar, calling her by her changed name Grace, acting perhaps as if she had never left. Chris saw no cellphones, no satellite dishes, no payphones, no telephone wires, no cars, not even a watch on anyone's wrists. It was as if they had no connection at all to the outside world, or even time itself.

Chris pulled out a napkin upon which Joann had scribbled the directions to the police station. "Okay, I think I can make sense of this." He said.

The directions seemed easy to follow, even taking into account the town's unusual layout. Where they arrived, however, called this into question - if it was the police station, it was unmarked, and looked like every other house around it. Chris was nervous to enter, worried they might barge in on some normal family.

"Come on, I'm sure it's the police station!" Martin said, hand on the doorknob.

"No way! There are no signs! What if it's just somebody's house?" Chris protested.

"The door's unlocked." Martin pointed out.

"I'll bet everyone's doors are unlocked around here!"

"For the love of God, Martin, just go inside." Shikaar said.

And he did such.

There were about four or five men sitting around a table, none in uniform, all smoking cigarettes and playing a game of cards. They looked up.

"Morning, lad - oh! Lads and lassie! What can I do ya for?" One of them said.

"Is this... the police station?" Martin said warily.

"It sure is!"

"Are you... cops?" Martin asked, baffled.

"You're speakin' to the constable, mate! So, is there a problem?"

"Yeah, uh, we're looking for a missing person." Martin said.

"Blimey! A missing person? That is a problem. Who're you looking for?"

"A... Dr. Ramesh Tendua."

All the officers began chuckling.

"Oh, we know him. You're out of luck, mate, when he came 'round here, he went into the moor to look for some Scottish Wildcat!"

"You know, when I was a tot, those thing's're rounded up and shot like pests," one officer bragged.

"That's not a good thing." Martin said. The officer smirked.

"So, you haven't gone to look for him?" Chris asked

"You kidding, mate? The weirdo ran out into the moor to look for a cat. If he died out there, it's not my fault."

"No crime is_ your fault!"_ Chris said through gritted teeth. "You still gotta do your jobs!"

Martin reached back and put a restraining hand on Chris' arm.

"Mate, if you wanna find him, go for it. You could organize a search party for all I care."

"You could talk to our lady Joann Walsh about it! She's good at things like that." Another officer excitedly chimed in. The constable smiled condescendingly and pointed at his colleague.

_"You all should be, too."_ Chris growled.

The constable shrugged with a ridiculous smile, and the rest of his officers laughed like they'd just pulled a great prank.

"Come on, Chris, let's just do it ourselves." Martin said, pulling his brother away.

"I told you so." Shikaar said, once they were outside the station.

Chris scoffed through his teeth. "No, you told us any authority would be in the pockets of this Odyssia," Shikaar frantically hushed him as if she feared Odyssia was listening, "not that they'd be _incompetent buffoons."_

"Chris, come on, it's not like they spat in your face or anything." Martin said. "This is a small town, I'll bet nothing else happens here. They're probably just lazy."

"If nothing happened in your town, and you were a cop, wouldn't you be just itching for something interesting to come up, though?" Chris asked.

Martin sighed. "Some people itch." He looked back at the unmarked station. "Other people settle."

"So now we just ask around?" Shikaar said.

"I guess so." Martin replied. "Do we want to split up?"

"What if one of us gets lost?" Shikaar asked.

Chris pointed to the cathedral's steeple. "You can see that from anywhere in town. Just head towards it - we'll all meet there... every hour. That way, if we discover something, we can find each other, or, if something's happened to one of us, we'll know, 'cause they've missed the check-in."

"Smart!" Martin said, nudging his brother and smiling, even if admittedly shaken by the notion of _something happening to one of us_.

Martin went East, Shikaar went Northwest and Chris went Southwest.

Asking around was not helpful. Everyone had practically the same response every time, a "yeah, I know Dr. Tendua, he went into the woods to look for a wild cat, and never came back," followed by a variation of "back in the day, those things were rounded up and shot," and, "why don't you ask Joann to help you with a search party?" with other kinds of little amiable embellishments and additions. One check-in later the trio were already disheartened. By the second check-in, it felt like all the townsfolk had rehearsed.

Walking from the cathedral shortly after the third check-in, Martin was just frustrated. The brothers had agreed that the townsfolk's replies had gone from monotonous to fishy, but Shikaar only said, "In a town this small, I'll bet everyone shares a brain by now. Honestly, our best bet would be to listen to them and start a search party with Joann."

_As if! _Martin thought as he walked. _I don't trust anyone here to get anything done, regardless of what they say. I'd sooner just wade into that moor myself!_

His attention was grabbed by a giggle. He saw its source was a little girl, somewhere between four and six in age, staring at him with an impish grin from behind a big flower pot. She waved at him to come closer.

_A kid! _Martin thought. _I'll bet she has a mind of her own more than anyone else in this town._

He came over, and she came out from behind her flower pot to greet him. He crouched in front of her.

"Mister, what day is it?" She asked.

"What day? Uh, Wednesday, I think."

"You're wrong!" She said gleefully, jumping up and down.

"Alright," he said, playing along, "what day is it then?"

"It's two days before pie day!" She said.

"So it is." Martin said in half-genuine, half-playful astonishment, noting that it was in fact the 12th of March. "But it is also a Wednesday."

"That's not important!" The girl said. "On pie day, the witch makes lots of pies!"

"Witch?" Martin asked. "There's a witch that lives here?"

"Uh-huh! She snatches up people she doesn't like, and they disappear!" She acted out snatching something, which was just her making claw hands in the air.

"Does she put them in the pies?" Martin asked.

"No! She puts them deep in the ground, then grows the pie-berries on top!"

Martin was unsettled by such a morbid thought coming from such a young child, but regardless he continued to jest with her.

"You know, I'm looking for a friend of mine who disappeared too! You think the witch took him?" Martin asked.

"I don't know your friend, silly man!" She sang.

"His name was Dr. Tendua. Have you heard of him?"

She put her finger on her chin, scrunched her face and let out an exaggerated _hmmmmmm_. "Maybe he went to see all his doctor friends? Are you a doctor too?"

Martin laughed. "No, I'm not."

"I'll bet you are! Doctor, doctor, you've forgotten your own job! Put a bandage on your head, and fix it!" She then laughed at her own comment, and ran a few circles around him. Martin began to stand to leave, when she stopped in front of him.

"Wait doctor! Come back down to my height! Grown-ups can't understand me, they're all too tall!"

"But I have to keep looking for my friend!" Martin said.

"See, already you don't understand! I have something important to tell you! If you come back down, no one else can hear us!"

He sighed and crouched again.

"I know where your Doctor friend is! I saw him go into the pub!"

Martin blinked. "Oh really? How did you know it was him?"

"Easy! He was the only stranger!" She poked his nose. "Until you showed up, that is!"

"Everyone else says he went into the moor to look for a Wild Cat." Martin said.

"That's silly! We don't have wild cats here. Only witches!"

"Is that so?" Martin asked.

She nodded.

"Well thank you very much for your help! I'll go search the pub right now!"

"Wait! I have something else important to tell you!" She said.

"What is it now?"

"You can't tell anyone I told you, it's a secret! I was told to say something else, but I can't remember." She said.

Martin felt a chill go down his spine. "Really? Who told you that?"

"The army man!" She said.

"Army man?" He asked.

She put her hand to her forehead and saluted him. "Roger that!"

At that moment, a woman, presumably the girl's mother, came out of the store, and, almost shrieking, grabbed the girl and pulled her away. Martin was immediately worried the mother would start accusing him of something indecent, but instead she shook the girl furiously.

"Hester! What have you told that man?" She said angrily.

"Nothing! Nothing!" The girl began to cry.

The mother turned to look at Martin, her rage melting into horror. As she began to hurriedly pull her daughter away from Martin, the girl turned to look back at him. Her tearful sobbing instantly vanished. She gave him an almost knowing smile, and Martin was left to wonder if he had just conversed with a human child or a fairy.

Nevertheless, Martin was now set on searching the pub. He pulled aside a man he had earlier inquired about Tendua and asked him where it was. The man gave a puzzled, concerned look, an expression Martin thought was better suited for when he had asked for the whereabouts of the missing man but had then only gotten an innocent smile.

"Are you sure?" The man asked.

"Why - wouldn't I be? I... need a break." He fibbed.

"Oh! Alright." The man cheered up, and told Martin how to get there.

The pub was marked, unlike the Police Station. _Smoke and Shadow_ it was called, according to its pub sign, which also bore the emblem of a hart.

It was a small, quiet, classic pub with stone walls and hardwood floors. Obviously Dr. Tendua wasn't there anymore, there were only two men, a young bartender who was happily wiping the bar with a wet cloth, and an old man sitting at one of the tables, sipping from a pint of beer, drunkenly humming to himself.

"'Ello there, stranger!" The bartender chimed. "What canna do for ya?"

"I'm... I don't need a drink, I'm looking for someone."

"No drink? Yer gonna do that to me?"

"I'm busy, and I-"

"Tell ya what, you buy a drink from me, I'll tell you what you need t' know."

The only patron laughed bitterly from his table.

"Alright, I guess." Martin said.

He ordered a small lager.

"So, I'll bet you're lookin for that Dr. Tendua chap?" The bartender asked.

"I am... how did you know?" Martin tested him.

"Nobody else's disappeared 'round here 'cept him. He walked into the woods looking for a wild cat, and never came out."

"Yeah, I know." Martin said, taking a sip.

"You know, when I was a boy-"

"Those things were rounded up and killed, yes, I know! And you think I should go to Joann to start a search party."

The bartender blinked.

"Look, pal, I didn't buy this dumb beer for you to tell me everything everyone else has told me. I've heard that he was seen in your pub. So when did he come in? What did he say?"

The old man at the table updated his humming to singing.

_"Heaving coals for a hungry fire,_

_Sweating cobs to get steam higher,_

_Of the colliers harvest I burn,_

_With toil and sweat, me wages earn."_ He sang.

The bartender leaned forward, his face all robbed of its old cheeriness, now dark and foreboding. "Who told you that?" He said in a low, threatening voice.

"It doesn't matter." Martin said. He drank again from his glass, not breaking eye contact with the bartender. "Is it true?"

"I... don't know. Lots of people come and go from here."

_"The driver sits there like a god,_

_A decent mate but an idle sod._

_Though I'll be shoveling on me knees,_

_Still he'll sit there at his ease."_

"Yeah, but I think you'd remember if a stranger like Tendua came through." Martin said. "I'll bet you'd remember every word he said to you."

"What're you suggestin'?" The Bartender tried to renew his sound of innocence, but it was muddled by genuine pique.

_"One day a driver I'll be,_

_Of the pick and shovel I'll be free,_

_Until that day I'll shift the coal,_

_Raising stream so the train can roll."_

"Christopher, knock it off, y' old sot!" The bartender snapped.

"You're name's Christopher?" Martin asked, turning his back to the bar.

"Aye, lad, Christopher Macfarlane," the old man muttered, cutting off his singing.

"That's my brother's name too." Martin said. "Christopher, not Macfarlane."

"I don't care." He said.

"Alrighty."

"Yer not gonna find yer friend, laddie."

_"Christopher,"_ the bartender warned.

"People come 'ere to disappear, willingly or not."

_"Christopher."_

"That minger Joann makes it seem like it's all sunshine an' roses, weary souls comin to get a fresh start. But half th' people here've killed a man, I'm one of 'em. Joann just takes 'em up an' drags 'em along."

_"Christopher, don't you be startin' trouble now."_

"Oh, hush, Rich, you know it's true. You got no reason to cover for her other than your bed."

"Don't listen to this man, he's a chronic sot and liar," the bartender said sternly. "And he's the only one of us who insists on being bitter at the world."

"Lemme tell ya somethin, lad, everybody's hidin here or in the ground. There's only one doctor livin', and that ole hag don't even set foot on our streets!"

The bartender laughed nervously. "That's just... rumors. _We don't talk about that."_

"Wait, who's that?" Martin asked. "Who's this doctor?"

_"You've said enough."_

"She lives in this old house on the other side of town from the saintly Joann's cottage, far from us. She won't know nothin'. She never sets a foot from there."

_"__We don't talk about her."_ The bartender repeated, practically red in the face.

"You best be gettin on wit' yourself, lad. You won't find anything out here. I told y' if yer here, yer here to hide or die. I wonder which you are?" He took another sip from his drink, and resumed his singing.

_"A loco fireman is me grade,_

_Boiling water is me trade,_

_The driver thinks he runs the show,_

_But if I'm not there the train won't go."_

Martin nervously looked at the bartender who, glowering, returned to his wipe-down of the counter. Martin abandoned his drink and rushed out.


	4. 4

"That _was_ weird." Chris said. The three had met up again, and Martin had recounted all that happened to him.

"The drunk Chris was probably just trying to scare you." Shikaar said. "Old people like to do that."

"I don't think so." Martin shook his head. "The girl also mentioned a witch. I thought she was just making stuff up, but what if this witch and doctor are the same person? Like a... witch doctor?"

"If they are, I don't see how they could help us find my father." Shikaar said.

"The girl said that the witch steals people, and bakes them into a pie. I'll bet that's an exaggeration, but what if this woman is... a serial killer of some kind?"

"That's a stretch, Martin." Chris said.

"The drunk Chris-"

"Please don't call him that." Chris cut Martin off.

"The old Chris-"

"Not much better."

"The...Chris...the Topher?" Martin paused, Chris just gave him a _whatever_ kind of look. "Well, he said half the people here are killers of some kind. What if it's true?"

"I don't believe him." Shikaar said. "Everyone here is so... _nice_."

"I wouldn't put it past those cops." Chris grumbled. "Or that guy." Chris subtly pointed to a man who had just come around a corner and into the other side of the square. He was middle aged, but incredibly muscular. His face was quite angular: he had a long thin jaw, spiked hair that was trying to deny its own balding, a ridged and misshapen nose, and lips that were swollen and mean.

Shikaar grabbed Martin's shoulder.

"That man. I didn't see him here until the day we left. He stared at me through the side mirror as we drove off."

Martin froze in fear. He knew him, he knew him for sure, he recognized his face. Yet he could not remember an identity or circumstance to ascribe to it, even though looking upon it stirred up an indescribable anxiety. His best hope was that this was a person he'd seen on TV, like an actor who played in some dreadful horror movie or a news broadcaster who covered some natural or unnatural disaster. But when this stranger felt Martin's gaze on his shoulder, and their eyes locked from across the street, Martin spotted the same glint of recognition in the man's own expression - he knew Martin too. But he let no other emotion surface, further obstructing Martin's ability to place this imposing entity. It made him feel nauseous.

"Don't just stare at him!" Chris whispered harshly. But he noticed Martin go pale, and put a hand on Martin's other, available shoulder. "Martin, you alright?" He asked.

Martin darted his eyes away from the man. "I know him."

"What? Who is he?" Chris asked.

"I don't know. I can't remember." He racked his brain to find some semblance, some trace of him in his memory, but all else was blurry and confused, save for the fear itself. "Let's get out of here." He took Chris' and Shikaar's hands from off his shoulders, and pulled them out of the square, back in the direction of the Bed and Breakfast.

"Something's definitely going on here." Martin said once they were a good distance away. "Something bad."

"Like what?" Chris said. "You think they're covering for a serial killer?"

"I don't know." Martin muttered twice.

"We should tell Joann." Shikaar said.

"No! No, we shouldn't." Martin cut in frantically. "Someone told these people to keep their mouths shut, and almost everyone we talked to referenced her, or told us to do the thing she told us to do."

"Okay, look, yeah, the Townsfolk have been acting weird for sure. But Joann's just been trying to help us at every turn!" Shikaar said.

"I don't trust that." Martin shook his head. "Not yet."

"I'm with Martin." Chris said. "Something fishy is going on, and Joann seems to be at the center of it."

"That is ridiculous!" Shikaar lowered her voice as a person passed by them. "Joann is a kind person. You don't know her like I do."

"You were here for just three days last time." Martin pointed out.

"Oh, suck an egg!" Shikaar snapped.

"Shikaar, do you want our help or not?" Chris stepped in. Shikaar said nothing. "That's what I thought. Okay, here's what we do. We're not gonna make any progress if we continue this strategy. And, as you found out with the bartender, if we push anyone on this they'll just get angry. I think we have to... do what they're telling us."

"What?" Martin shouted. "I'm sorry, I thought were in agreement here."

"Martin, think about it. We're not getting anything done. I think we should do what they want us to, but keep prying. If they think they've won us over, they'll be more vulnerable."

"Yeah, but we still don't know anything about Joann. We could be walking into a Lions' den here, who knows what she might try!" Martin said.

"Nothing. She's a nice old woman." Shikaar hissed.

"Martin, you are right, we need to know more." Chris got a twinkle in his eye. "But there's a pretty easy way to take care of that."

.

.

.

"I can't do this." Martin said, but Chris remained adamant.

"You're the guy for the job." He said. "You're the most approachable of us, and she'll be intimidated if we _all_ us go down there."

"Why would she be intimidated?" Martin complained. "She doesn't suspect anything, right?"

"She won't if it's just you." Chris said. "Now quit making excuses and get out there!"

Martin stared at his brother anxiously.

"Come on, Martin, she's just a sweet country gal. She won't bite!"

_It's not Joann I'm worried about,_ Martin thought.

The brothers were standing in the breakfast room, looking out the window and onto the farm. Of all the places she could be out there, of all the things she could be tending to, it was the one thing he had been trying to avoid - avoid looking at, avoid thinking about, and certainly avoid approaching.

She was with the goats.

_Maybe she'll move soon, to somewhere else on the farm? _He thought. He turned to Chris. "Hey, we should, like, take another few minutes or something, to come up with a more solid plan."

Chris looked at this brother with squinted eyes. "Martin, it's a conversation, not rocket science. What's the matter with you? I thought you were a people person." He walloped Martin on the back. "Get out there! You got this, bro! I'll be right here, okay?"

Martin gulped, and exited through the door. He descended the hill towards the farm, looking back once at Chris, who gave him an enthusiastic double thumbs up through the window.

"Hi there, honey!" Joann shouted as he got close. "You're back soon! Any luck?"

"Nope, none at all." He said.

"That's too bad. I didn't wanna say anything, but I didn't think they'd have anything for you. They're a simple lot, and share everything. As soon as one person knows something, that's all the rest of 'em know too. Them small town folks're like a hive mind."

"Yeah, that's pretty much what happened." Joann's response came so amiably, so knowingly, that Martin was almost willing to accept it and write off some of the strangeness he'd encountered. At the very least, he grew bolder with regards to testing the waters and seeing how much else Joann could account for. "Some of them got pretty defensive, though."

She chuckled. "Rich did, I'll bet? The bartender."

Martin raised his eyebrows. "Y-yeah, he did."

"Don't worry 'bout him, he's got a short fuse, especially since we've been trying to get him off the bottle."

_That's almost a perfect explanation,_ Martin thought. But, it was only almost; the bartender didn't blow up because Martin was trying to intervene with his drinking habits. He did when the drunk old man started saying things he wasn't supposed to.

Or was he? Joann's voice was soothing and intelligent, like she was just able to see past the small-town simplicity and make sense of it. There was no wonder as to why the townsfolk gathered around her, even on her knees scrubbing the feet of goats, she had an air of leadership, which, funnily enough, was not the impression he got when they had first met. But Martin was willing to write off her initial daftness as tiredness, as the visitors had arrived late, and then the next day, they had gotten up early. They had experienced a careless, exhausted Joann. This was Joann at her prime.

Joann sighed, and patted one of the goats on the back. It was a big, black, shaggy billie goat with large hooked horns and angry eyes. Looking at it made Martin's skin crawl, as his mind ebbed in and out of horrible memories, like the waves of the black shore that hosted them.

"Sorry, you caught me during my chores." She broke him from his trance. "I'm scrubbing their feet right now. Say, would you like to come in here and help me?"

"No, I'm good." He said. He was trembling slightly, so he leaned against a fence post to try and mask it.

"Really? I thought you were a zoologist or something. You probably know more about goats than I do."

"It's, uh-" while he struggled to come up with a response, she chattered on.

"Is it an ethical thing? You know, livestock practices are always misunderstood. Meat goats like these live longer in captivity than they would in the wild, before they get taken to the slaughter."

"Yes, I know that already." Martin said, his mind too frazzled for him to have taken that advantage and played along. "I just, ah -" he once again could not finish his thought.

"Come on in here, a little dirt and elbow grease can't hurt ya!" She teased him, with an impish glint in her eyes.

He could not protest. He found himself in a daze as he clambered over the fence.

_What am I doing?_ He thought, his feet crashing and shifting into the mud, which made all the goats turn their heads and beady eyes towards him. _They're still just animals, right?_

"These are good goats. Sturdy, hearty breeds." She quickly demonstrated to him that she wanted him to hold it by its horns. He knelt down at its head. It was a slight relief to see it jerk around with the natural spark of life, lashed eyes blinking and ears twitching and hooves stomping up splashes. But when it bucked its head to protest Martin's seizure, it got its maw right up against Martin's throat, and amidst the animal's hot, pressing breath, he swore he could smell Dr. Wilfred's rotting miasma. Joann continued to chat. "A lot of farmers from my old town swore on their American goats, but the ones up here are alright."

"Uh-huh." Martin said, stifling his urge to gag. _Here's a good opportunity,_ he managed to think through his queasiness, and sought to accomplish what his brother had tasked him with. "So, how did you come to live here anyways?"

She laughed. "Now, why'd you want to know about little old me, huh? I'm sure your life is more interestin'."

"I'm just curious how a country girl like yourself even thought to come here, and turn it into what it is."

"What it is?" She asked.

"You know, like...a refuge, where all people are welcome."

"Oh, no, sonny, I - hold up, gotta switch to the front. Help me out and hold its rear, will ya?" The two switched places, and while Martin was relieved to no longer be stuck with its haunting head, having to manage the behind wasn't exactly a luxury. He grimaced as the goat kicked a bit. Joann continued. "I don't wanna think of this places as special or nothin. I think every town oughta be welcomin' of whoever comes their way."

"Except criminals?" Martin prodded.

"Everyone deserves a second chance, no matter what they've done." She said.

_That's not true, _Martin thought. He'd seen enough of Chris' true crime shows - and heck, enough of real life - to know that there were plenty of people who were far too dangerous to be out in the world, but he didn't want to burst this woman's altruistic bubble.

"But it weren't my idea. My... husband, bless his soul. He was always such a fan of the mystique of old Britain, all its castles and knights and whatnot. He saved enough money to move here and I, well, just wanted to be there with him as his dream came true. We didn't care for big ole London so we came here, still small town folks we were, and everyone was so nice, we fit right in. After he _passed away_, well, I didn't have the heart to leave." She stood up, and Martin followed.

"I'm so sorry for your loss." Martin said.

"It didn't feel like a loss once I continued his work. He fancied himself a lord, like in medieval times. Not that he was arrogant or anything, he just liked having a village he could feed and protect. I guess that makes him just as much of a momma hen. It's why we opened it up to anyone who might be... well, runnin. Not just as a place where they could hide, but a place where they'd have a home. It was a pretty thing, to continue his legacy."

"How did he die, if you don't mind me asking?"

She sighed. It was clearly a passing that had occurred a long time ago, so she had the strength to speak on it, though he could see in her fluttering eyes how it weighed on her soul. "Food poisoning." She sighed. "This was a food desert for a while, so we didn't always get the most high quality of goods. One day he... ate somethin real bad for him. It was all that was available. We tried to take him to a doctor but he couldn't be saved. Oh, that poor old sawbones. She blamed herself and hid away in isolation. But I -" She began to choke up. "I turned my bed and breakfast into a farm! Gave me somethin' to do, to keep busy, and it meant everyone else could have fresh food."

"That's wonderful. I'm sure he would've loved what you did here." Martin said.

She chuckled. "Maybe not in life. He was born into a family of farmers, and wanted to get away from all that. This land of... rich fantasy was exactly what he wanted. There weren't any castles 'round here, though, he was bummed about that. It's the topography, no one ever built one, what with all the caves and sinkholes in this area."

Matin blinked. "Wait. What did you say?"

"Sinkholes? Oh yeah, they're everywhere 'round here. Some're big enough to swallow a horse. You really gotta be careful off trail."

_Oh no. That means -_

Martin, up until this point, was certain that _something_ was being covered up. It just didn't make any sense that a trained zoologist and skilled survivalist like Tendua would just disappear into the wilderness never to come back, especially with no large predatory or other ecological threats, and a daughter awaiting his safe return.

But Tendua was not a geologist. He was probably only familiar with the terrain of his home turf. If he truly did see a wild cat, and set out to find one, unknowingly in a land filled with unseen pitfalls built into the landscape - the result would be disastrous, especially for an older, feebler man like him.

And that reminded Martin of what he really came down here to do, though he was now resolved that it was what they should have done from the beginning, and not just now, as a ploy to get answers from the townsfolk.

"That reminds me, we uh - we've come around on doing a search party."

She grinned, taking off the thick working gloves she had on and slapping them on her thighs to loosen big chunks of dirt. "Really? Seems I got through to ya!"

"Yeah, well, if he did come here to find a Scottish Wild cat, it makes sense that the village wouldn't know anything. You know, we just wanted to cover all our bases."

"Figures. I guessed you didn't come all the way down here just to ask about me." She said. She hopped over the fence, and helped Martin over too. Normally he wouldn't have needed it, but when he landed his legs became like jelly. Joann looked puzzled at him. "You ok, honey? You look pale as a ghost."

"I'm fine, I didn't sleep well last night." He said. That was true, though it wasn't the sole cause for his current condition. He stood stubbornly facing the house, refusing to look at the cause of his distress any further.

"You'd better get some rest then." She said. "I'll call up my best guys, and we'll go searchin' in the morning. Come along, I'll make you some tea and send you off to a nap."

And she took off up the hill, whistling loudly, a perplexed and worn Martin trailing her.

_We were wrong. Tendua's probably out there on the moor, trapped in a sinkhole. Let's just hope he's still alive after all this time._


	5. 5

Martin woke to the sound of stomping boots and muffled chatter, from what were probably 10 or so guys. The walls and floors were thin, so their arrival made quite a ruckus, and it drew Martin in curiosity out of his bed before he had time to make himself decent. He scampered across the hall to Chris' room, and knocked.

"Come in." Said Chris, through the door.

"I can't." He said. "It's locked."

"Hold on." Chris said. Martin heard Chris' footsteps, then saw the doorknob jiggle as Chris tried to open it from other the side. "That's weird." Chris said. "It's locked for me too."

"Do you have your room key?" Martin asked.

"Yeah, but there's no lock for it on this side."

At that moment, Rodger came back up the stairs. Martin grew very red in the face, as he realized he was still only in his boxers, but Rodger seemed to pay no mind to this indecency.

"What's going on, fellas?" He asked.

"Chris' door is jammed." He stammered, trying to hide his bare chest behind his arms in a way that was natural and not awkward. Sadly, his fumbling around just made it less natural and more awkward, however Rodger remained preoccupied, or at the very least unaffected.

"Ugh! Damned house." Rodger fished around in his pockets and pulled out a ring of keys. "I'm sorry, guys, these old locks malfunction a lot and reset themselves." He stuck in a key and turned it, freeing Chris from his room. "I keep telling mom we need to replace these things, but she's so sentimental. Says it's nothing to do with the locks, that it's the ghosts of this place who are messin' with them."

"Your father?" Martin asked.

"No, she says there are others. Thinks the ghost of a matron is responsible for this particular problem, you see, this used to be a small boarding school, and the old woman wanted to keep her girls from sneaking out."

"Is Shikaar locked in too?" Martin asked.

Chris, comb still in hand, leaned on his doorframe and raised a brow, as if saying, _you don't believe all this now, do you?_

"Nah, Shikaar's already up." Rodger said. "Y'all come down here soon, the party's gathered. Martin, I'd suggest putting on clothes, yeah? Don't wanna show that off to strangers, they might start thinking things." He winked and bounded off.

"Was that... flirting, or-" Chris said,

"He probably just has a weird sense of humor." Martin hoped. "So, you ready? How'd you sleep?"

"Like a baby." Chris said. "You?"

"Also like a baby. But in the sense that I woke up at random hours and wanted to cry."

Chris straightened his back. "Uh oh. Nightmares?" He knew at least about those as a problem Martin had been having.

"No, not this time. Well, maybe one. But I just woke up from the noises. This house is really loud." He stretched his neck. "It was the funniest thing, sometimes I could swear I heard people talking."

"Maybe it's the ghosts!" Chris sneered.

"Shut up man, and comb your stupid quiff."

Chris laughed and pushed Martin further into the hallway. "Go put some clothes on, you lunatic, we don't want the ghosts to start _thinking things._"

.

.

.

Martin came down the stairs after getting dressed, and followed the sounds of everyone to the breakfast room. It was full of grown men, some of which he had seen from the village; he counted eleven heads, not including Joann, Chris, Rodger or Shikaar.

Chris spotted Martin, and gave him an furtive grimace. Martin shot Chris in turn a face of confusion, and Chris with his head gestured to the source of the complication.

In the center of the room, Joann was chatting enthusiastically with a handful of the men. One of the cluster was the bartender Rich, who was giving Martin an intense stare. But that was the least of it - another of that crowd was the muscular stranger, the man from town Martin recognized, but not completely. His back was to Martin, but Martin could make out the features enough to know it was him.

Shikaar was also in that particular pow-wow, and when she noticed Martin, became uncharacteristically excited. She bounded to him, and pulled him to the circle by the arm, saying, "I've met him! Come meet Noah."

This Noah was the mystery man. He gave Martin a sly smile, and grappled him into an iron-grip handshake. His hands were strikingly cold. "You must be Martin." He said. His British accent was very deliberate and distinct, and it threw Martin off. For whatever reason, it was not the voice he was expecting out of this man.

But Martin squinted, and regained his grounding. "I know you." He said.

"Really!" Laughed Noah, almost mockingly. "That's all fine, because I know you."

Martin was taken aback. "You do?"

"Sure," he inveigled, "you're one of the Wild Kratts! Traveling zoologists with incredible powers! I would see you on the news, before coming to this -" he breathed deeply, as if relishing in some mountain air - "sanctuary." Noah finally released Martin's hand, having held it for some time, as if he intended to kiss it or lead him away somewhere.

"It turns out, he really had just moved in the day we left!" Shikaar said happily.

"She explained to me the staring contest we had in the city, that she'd recognized me and thought I was somehow important to this tragic disappearance."

But that sat unsatisfying in Martin's head, as it seemed all the other villagers eyed this Noah with the same febrile curiosity they had directed at Chris and Martin, like he was still a stranger to them. They did not treat Shikaar so, but instead smiled upon her like she was a close relative they were fond of, which made no sense next to their treatment of Noah who, if his story was to be believed, had been here longer than she. It further didn't explain how Martin knew him, and why looking upon him still gave Martin a sickening feeling.

Meanwhile, Chris approached Joann. "This is quite a turnout for such short notice, I'm impressed." He said.

"We're a community, we look out for one another." She boasted. "Besides, people here have quite a bit of free time."

"Quite a lot of _men_ here." Martin remarked, merging into that conversation, no longer wanting to focus solely on Noah, since that was putting a knot in his stomach.

"The better to pull one out if they fall into a sinkhole."

"Say, Martin," Noah said, continuing his pursuit of the young man, "am I remembering correctly that - in your line of work, you can somehow turn into animals?"

This caused quite a chattered stir in the people standing in that circle.

"Yes, well-"

"Neat!" Noah cut him off, "that would be useful in this search. Maybe you could turn into a falcon and look from above."

"Or a badger, to dig into the holes!" Chimed in another man.

"It doesn't quite work that way." Martin said. "I work with a brilliant engineer, Aviva Corcovado, and she designed these special vests that let me transform." He tried to explain it in a way that they'd understand. "I have to have the suit, and then I have to touch the animal I want to turn into."

"Really?" Noah said surprised, as if this somehow contradicted something he knew.

"But I can't use it because they're with Aviva in New Mexico."

"Well, leave it to a woman to keep a man's gun from him." Said one of the men, who was one of the police officers they'd earlier encountered. The whole room erupted into laughter - as some who were positioned on the outskirts of the room had been drawn in to the central conversation once Martin arrived - save for Chris and Martin themselves.

"It's not like that," Martin protested, "really. They're delicate pieces of equipment, and they need her to be there in case something goes wrong." Martin stopped. _Wow. I actually sound like her._

But he didn't think it a bad thing. The rest of the group had continued to laugh over his defense of her honor, and he couldn't help thinking if this was how she felt whenever the brothers brushed aside her warnings and instructions.

Joann came down from her laughter and clapped her hands. "Alright, boys, let's get serious." She commanded the room, and they silently, reverently paid her their attention. "We have a lot of ground to cover, but only one vehicle. I can transport all of you with my livestock trailer but once we reach the edge of the moor we'll all move by foot, in five groups of three or four. Get acquainted with anyone you don't know while on the drive, we'll only have fifteen minutes before you're cut loose into the wild."

The men nodded and muttered to themselves.

"Thomas and Caspar, you'll be with me." She said. The old man who had been at breakfast yesterday, and was either Thomas or Caspar, smiled and gave a thumbs up. He heard a grunt of approval from another man, who was also either Thomas or Caspar. "Grace, you're with me too."

Shikaar sighed with relief. It was common sense to Martin that Joann would take her, not leaving her with any strange men. Besides, Joann had an obvious fondness for the girl, and Shikaar looked on her more dotingly than he had even remembered her looking on her father.

"Harvey, Arthur, Nicolas, you're a group. Damian and Andrew, you're with Rodger." The two other youngest men, clearly those two just named, were already beside Rodger, and put their arms upon him happily. They were obviously friends.

"Jacob, Michael, you're with our friend Martin." Joann said. Martin scanned the room to see who reacted. They were not anyone he recognized from seeing in town. "And that leaves Noah and Richard with Chris. Now let's go find this lovely girl's father!"

Martin's heart dropped, and Chris' eyes widened, as the crowd began to funnel out the door, following Joann. Noah, the heinous stranger, and Rich, the ill-tempered bartender, the two people here who gave Martin the most unease. They were to be with his little brother, isolated in this treacherous wilderness! Martin shuddered to think what terrible things might come of it. This dread was punctuated by Noah looking over his shoulder and giving Martin a cruel grin, as the man strutted up to his brother and have him a slap on the back, which caused poor Chris to stagger. This snapped Martin from his speculative state and compelled him to action; in his fearful paralysis he ended up at the back of the line, and had to push his way through and around the other people in order to reach Joann and appeal to her.

"Hey, I don't know if it's a good idea to split me and Chris up." He said while catching his breath, when he finally caught up to her. "He and I just work better as a team, you know?"

"Yeah, but y'all are the only two zoologists. Wouldn't be fair to the rest of us if you hoarded that expertise to yourselves!" She pulled herself into the driver's seat of the car. "Better to split you up so we can spread you around."

A hand came down on Martin's shoulder from behind, which forced from him a startled jump. But it was just Chris, who had followed Martin over to Joann.

She laughed. "Guess y'all don't work that great as a team after all!" She closed the car door. "You boys get in that trailer, all the good seats are probably taken up."

.

.

.

The fifteen minute ride was spent in cramped silence. There were no windows in that horse trailer, only a ring of small vents near the roof, that small beams of light filtered through like hopeless rays through prison bars. All that there was to look at were the imposing stares of the strangers all around them. The metal box bucked and swerved along a road that could not be seen. Martin was beginning to feel nauseous, though he wasn't sure if the source of it was his anxiety or motion sickness.

They did not know where their destination was or when they would arrive at it until the vehicle stopped, and those double doors were unlatched and swung open. Martin stumbled out with everyone else, squinting in the intense cloudy light, making quick adjustments to his stance as the ground became spongey beneath his feet. They had arrived at the moor.

The landscape was immediately striking, it looked like something out of a fantasy world. The grassy hills were rolling like dunes in a desert, or waves in a sea, but tremendous spires of dark stone shot up through the ridges, like they were the half-buried bones of giants who once roamed taller than the mountains in the hazy distance. The wispy grasses, unruly wildflowers, and tangled bracken were all covered in silvery drops, the remnants of a passing fog.

"Right," Joann said, "you know your groups."

Martin looked helplessly at Chris, then his teammates.

"We'll fan out and search til sundown." She continued. "Try to return to the trailer at around 5:00 PM."

"How will we know when that is?" Chris asked. "None of us exactly have... phones. Or, watches."

"Just watch for the sun in the sky!" Shouted one man, and they all laughed, like this was an axiom, and Chris was an idiot for not knowing.

_Like we could see the sun behind those clouds,_ Martin thought, though he kept his mouth shut, not wanting to get the same humiliation Chris had.

"Are there any other questions?" Joann asked, coming down from her laughter.

Chris had a few, such as, _what's the protocol for if we actually find Tendua, what happens if we get lost, what happens if one of us falls into a sinkhole_, but he was not willing to endure more ridicule, so he too held his tongue. "Alright, when we reconvene, we'll all drive back to the pub, and have dinner on me!"

Everyone cheered, but it seemed disingenuous. Immediately after, without another word, they all dispersed.

"Good luck, bro," Chris said to Martin, with a tinge of fear. The brothers exchanged a quick and incomplete hug.

Martin didn't like this. He didn't like it at all. The whole thing was set up and executed too quickly, and neither he nor Chris had any say, any control, or even any safety. It was true that they had run out of options, and it was true that if Tendua really had gone missing in the moor, this was the best way to find him. However, there was an undeniable essence to it that was off-putting, like the fact that everyone was so enthusiastic that this was what they should do, but when time came to do it, they all followed along with little thought or real energy, as if it weren't a real task at all, but a play they wanted an excuse to perform. Martin couldn't make sense of it, and oh, the dread it put into his poor chest. He wished he could just watch his brother over his shoulder until he disappeared over the horizon, just to make sure as long as possible that Noah and the bartender would do him no wrong, but the terrain was so wild and weltering that Chris disappeared behind a ridge long before sheer distance could've hidden him away.

And yet, crushing anticipation was all the affair turned out to be. His two companions hardly spoke a word as they combed the land, but they never snuck up on him from behind or did away with him, though they had ample opportunity to, as Martin was the one most meticulously searching, and often had his back towards them. All the caves and sinkholes they found were empty, of evidence of the Doctor there was none, and no foreboding cries for help or shrieks of fear suffused the air. Many times, most agreeably to Martin, he found himself on the peak of a hill, and could survey quite a lot from where he stood, like the other groups ambling about in the distance, and, if he was lucky, Chris, still searching, still safe and sound, though the presence of Noah and Rich beside him always called into question how long that would last. If Chris ever did come into view, Martin would stay on that hill, sadly watching him for as long as he could, until his companions called for him to move on.

There were a few animals Martin encountered. The standout was a raven seated upon an old rotten tree, preening her coal-dark feathers. She more than others made Martin long for Creature Powers, for his vest, for all that was across the Atlantic from him. To be like the raven would be ideal, but any animal at all would've been an enormous help. If only he could fly or dig or find and follow a scent, it could help them find Tendua, it could help him keep track of his brother. While staring into the eyes of the corvid, where most people would've felt an ill omen, Martin felt longing; he was thrilled with his existence as a human, his role and place in the animal kingdom, in the food chain, in the natural world, but experiencing the freedom of other animal forms had in a way spoiled him, and made him impatient and unsatisfied standing in his own two feet, especially in trying situations like these. It was not a selfish desire, but impatience and dissatisfaction are potent influences, and it made what was otherwise a merely uneventful undertaking so much worse.

"It's about time to head back." One of his companions chuffed, after what felt like an eternity of fruitless slogging.

"Really? You must be able to tell from the sun," was Martin's rejoinder, as he stared up at a sky that had not changed in brightness the whole time.

"Yep." He said, either ignoring the remark or unable to process it altogether.

Martin had been mentally keeping track of where they went, more diligently than he usually had, so he was with little effort able to lead his accompaniments back in the right direction. He was anxious to return to Chris, who he had not caught sight of for two hours. It was a huge relief when Chris came into view right along with the trailer. He was leaning up against it, arms folded, with an unhappy scowl. A slight glimmer of a smile took its place when he caught sight of Martin, but it was still mostly desultory.

"Any luck?" He muttered in a low voice to the kin who had come up beside him.

"None." Martin said. "Not even any false alarms."

"Thought so." Chris said.

About half of the party had returned, and two more groups were coming up over the ridge, and while Joann's group was nowhere in sight, it was only a matter of time before she returned. Martin and Chris both knew there were things they wanted to discuss in confidence, but were very quickly running out of their chance, and even now it was a feeble one. Without a word, Chris and Martin moved around to the front of the car, where no one was standing around.

"Okay, figure out anything about Noah?" Martin cut to the chase.

"I'm not sure," Chris said, shifting his stance with a troubled brow, "but there's definitely something up with him."

"How so?"

But before that conversation could even begin, Joann popped up from behind them.

"Boys, what're you doin' over here?" She asked. "Y'er not keepin' anything from the search party, are you? No pertinent discoveries?"

"Nope, we found nothing, like everyone else," Chris sighed, but then corrected himself, "I'm assuming you _did_ find nothing, right?"

"Not even a whisper of the poor old man." Joann said. "But it's getting dark, so we'll have to come back here and resume tomorrow."

"Come back... here?" Chris said, surprised.

"What're you gettin' at, honey?" Said Joann.

"We got out about as far as we could in the time we had. I don't know, it just doesn't seem very productive to comb that land all over again." Chris put his hands on his hips. "This moor is big. Like, _really_ big, a lot bigger than I anticipated. Honestly, at this rate, he's just as likely to have gotten lost as he was to fall in a sinkhole. It'll be better if we drive around to another side of the moor and fan out from there."

Martin smiled. He couldn't help but feel a little bit of pride when Chris was impressively practical like this. It made him wonder where he got such a skill, because he certainly didn't learn it from Martin.

"Oh, I think he went to _this area_, though," Joann replied.

"How are you so sure?" Chris asked.

She stammered. "Well, uh, that's a conversation for tomorrow. It's late, and the boys are hungry! You are too, right? Come on, let's get into town."

Chris was not won over by her clear attempts to prevaricate, but nonetheless he dropped his pursuit for now. Martin gave Chris a reassuring smile, tacitly saying, _don't worry bro, I liked your plan_, as if that would make any difference.

.

.

.

Martin had been suspicious of everyone's confidence that they could figure out the time just looking at the sky, but he had to admit their timing impeccable. The town was shrouded in darkness, blessed with light from only amber-glowing lampposts, whose ardent emissions reflected off the fog-dampened cobblestone.

Dinner in the pub was unusual. Chris and Martin just felt uncomfortable the whole time, not knowing anyone, and having to stand there and watch them have a good time.

And what a good time it was! They were drinking, laughing, even at times dancing, like this was a party just coming back from a satisfying sports game, and not a tragic manhunt. Chris and Martin watched in quiet disbelief, unable to even enjoy the display of camaraderie, which Shikaar was able to at the very least find some amusement in.

Martin felt helpless and confused. They had been dragged here to search for a man who had caused him much strife. As much as he had been defending him to his brother, Martin hadn't entirely processed all the feelings he had for the doctor, and now he was forced not only to confront that, but the distressing mystery surrounding this town, as well as his still residing trauma from a few months ago. But right now, he could not deal with any of it. He was forced to sit and watch other people's merriment, unable to get to the bottom of any mysteries, unable to have a quiet conversation with his weary emotions.

So, when he noticed Noah make a furtive exit from the pub, the urge to do _something_, anything at all, overcame him. He got up, and followed Noah out.

The man was just standing outside the door. He had lit a cigarette, and was just expelling his first billows of smoke. He saw Martin, and wordlessly put away his lighter.

"Guess you're not a party guy either." Noah said. "That's alright, I'm like that too. I prefer to enjoy a quiet night in a quiet town." He breathed deeply.

"Who are you," Martin demanded. It was all he could think to say. He felt once again paralyzed, though it was more born from tension, as his hands were balled into fists so tight they might've crushed themselves.

Noah laughed. "I'm surprised _that's_ the question you have tonight. Not, 'where's Dr. Tendua?' Or, 'am I safe here?'"

"_Who are you._" Martin demanded again.

"You're never safe, not here, not anywhere. Not in your line of work. You don't need me, _whoever I am_, to tell you that."

"Is that a threat?" Martin said. "What do you want?"

Noah spun around and put his hand upon Martin's collar bone, a move which sent a sickening shock across his body. Noah's voice was deep and low, but it trembled, he was seething. It was like the distant rumble of a train coming to grind you against the track you were tied to. "I want you to know that I do know you, I know you very well, and it suits me greatly that you don't know me. I'm going to keep it that way as long as I like," he then leaned in, and whispered, "And another thing, you might want to keep an eye on that brother of your's. I've learned the hard way you tend to lose the people you care about when you don't pay them _careful_ attention," he then shoved Martin away. His menacing scowl dissolved. "Hey, what are you doing sulking around out here? There's a party!" And he turned and cheerily strut back into the pub.

Chris came out when Noah went in. He approached a clearly distraught Martin, who was staring with vulnerable eyes at the ground.

"Martin, there you are! What's up, why are you - Martin, are you okay?"

"Chris I -" Martin's words struggled to emerge unbroken. "I need to go back to the inn, I'm - I'm not feeling well."

"Okay, uh-" Chris heaved a sympathetic sigh, "I'll go tell Joann and we'll head out."

"I need to go _now_." Martin turned up to look at Chris, and a desperate misery was expressed to the younger brother as it never had been before. Chris just nodded and gave a quiet "_okay_," and then, putting his hand on his brother's back, said, "you go on, I should tell at least someone."

Martin nodded, and rushed off, with Chris turning back to head into the den of searchers.


	6. 6

Chris went after Martin as fast as he could. Joann was wrapped up in a conversation and hard to talk to, so some time was but between Martin and Chris' departure. Chris was hoping he could catch Martin before he arrived at the inn, but he had no such luck. He walked in alone.

All the lights were off. Chris was worried he had passed or missed Martin somehow and got there first, because everything was so dark and lifeless. This notion was dashed though by creaking coming from the ceiling, like someone shifting their weight on the floorboards above, followed by the muffled sound of coughing.

Chris hurried to it. Coming on the second-floor hallway he saw a harsh beam of light jutting from the bathroom. He could hear Martin inside, so he sprinted over.

"Martin! Hey, I'm sorry I-" Chris stopped.

Martin was on his knees, hunched over the toilet, visibly shaking.

"Martin, are you ok?" Chris asked. This question had an obvious answer, but Martin got a small comfort from hearing it nonetheless.

He looked up slightly, smushing the side of his face up against his folded arms. "I've just got an upset gut."

"No kidding." Chris said, kneeling down next to him. "How bad is it?"

"I've pretty much tossed up everything I've had, and have moved on to just heaving," he said, too spent to not talk about it casually.

"I'm so sorry." Chris said. "Is it something you ate?"

"No." Martin said, miserably turning his head back into the bowl.

"I'll go get you some water." As he got up, he heard a car pull up outside. _That must be Joann._ He thought. At first he was surprised that she was so close behind him, until he remembered a thirty minute walk for him was just a five minute drive for her.

She met him downstairs. Shikaar was with her. "Howdy Chris! Rodger wanted to stay with the boys. I came as quick as I could - so what's the deal? Why'd you run off?"

Shikaar herself looked peeved, but had nothing to say.

"Martin isn't feeling well." Chris explained. "I actually just came down to get him some water."

"How unwell? He's not throwin' up, is he? That does a number on these old pipes, I'll tell ya."

"He is." Chris said angrily. "Sorry about your _pipes_."

"Oh, honey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean-" she huffed, and never finished her sentence. "Go get him his water."

"Is he gonna be well enough to keep searching for my dad?" Shikaar asked.

_Thanks for your concern!_ Chris wanted to snap, but he restrained himself. "I don't know. I'll go talk to him."

Chris got him the water, and had a small chat. In that conversation Martin revealed that the cause of his ailment the horrible and inexplicable anxiety stirred up by his encounter with Noah. The two concocted a plan that might help Martin's nerves, while still allowing them to help Shikaar. Of course, since Martin was still unwell, it was Chris' task to present this plan with Joann.

"We talked." Chris said when he came back downstairs to face the two women. "We can keep searching."

Shikaar sighed with relief and Joann clapped her hands together.

"_However_," Chris continued, "we can't keep doing the whole search party thing."

"What?" Shikaar said. "Then how do you intend to search?"

"Just the two of us." Chris said. "On the moor."

"I don't think that's a good idea." Joann said.

"Yeah, _duh, it's a terrible idea!" _Shikaar growled. "You're not going to make any progress like that! It's ridiculous!"

"No one else is taking this search seriously, okay, except for me, Martin and Shikaar."

"I beg your pardon?" Joann asked, raising an eyebrow.

Chris stammered. This excuse was not entirely the reason, so he had to fib a little to justify it. "Look, it feels like having to deal with everyone else is just slowing us down and distracting us. We really need to just be in our element if we want to make any progress."

"'Element?'" Shikaar practically growled. "I thought you were _zoologists_, not _detectives_."

Chris grimaced at his own words being thrown against him. He was pushed to finally come clean about his intentions. "Look. Martin and I have been through some really difficult times leading up to this, and all of this is kind of overwhelming."

Shikaar rolled her eyes, clearly thinking her own situation was far worse than whatever these two had gone through.

"You know, Shikaar," Chris retaliated the gesture, "when you came down here and dragged us into this, it was Martin who convinced me to help you, so the least _you_ could do is be accommodating!"

Shikaar looked like she was going to physically attack Chris, but Joann put a hand on her. Joann responded with a surprising genuine sympathy. "I'm sorry, Chris, I understand. If this is what you and your brother need, then it's what you'll get. And, I'm sorry if it seemed like I wasn't takin' things seriously." She swayed apologetically in her feet. "I spent a lot of time in this town, and I'll admit, after spending all these days with the same people, I forget how I come across. I was just so excited about something like this happening, and I got everyone swept up in it, and forgot that... real people are at stake here, and that's what's important."

This relaxed both Chris and Shikaar.

"Thanks for understanding." Chris said, for the first time at ease with his host.

Joann continued. "Still, I'd be worried about you boys if you went out there by yourselves. You don't know this terrain, you could get lost!"

Chris laughed. "We never know any of the terrain we end up in. We kinda just get dropped wherever and are able to make do."

"Still, at least take Rodger with you! He knows that car better than even me, plus he can help out if something goes wrong."

Chris hesitated. "I'll ask Martin about it. I probably won't have an answer until the morning."

Joann winked. "You get back to that brother of your's then! I'll work all night and bake y'all a pie for the morning, as way of an apology, and for good luck."

She winked, and sent the two upstairs. All the way Chris could feel Shikaar's angry stare on his back, like a hot iron being drilled between his shoulder blades. It was clear she was still not satisfied with the brother's arrangement. He wanted to turn around and try to reason with her, but he feared adding fuel to that flame, and getting burns elsewhere.

Chris stayed up with Martin until he was exhausted enough to sleep through his urges to retch. Shikaar went straight to bed, not speaking to the brothers, not even asking if Martin was okay. Before Chris had doubted her, but now he worried that she doubted them, and that it would make for an even more problematic situation.

.

.

.

Chris accidentally slept in. He hadn't meant to, Chris had been woken so consistently by the rising sun that he turned off his alarm, and in his tiredness forgot to set it just for that morning.

To his relief, Martin also had not woken. It was just an hour past when they should've risen, so it wasn't as egregious as, say, waking in the late afternoon, but Chris was still relieved that he wasn't the only one who had fallen behind. Chris was actually the one who woke Martin, so while he got ready, Chris went ahead downstairs, after making sure Martin was okay.

Joann had indeed made a pie, and the whole house smelled of it. The breakfast room was much emptier than it had been, with only Joann, Rodger, and a still annoyed Shikaar in it.

"You're late." Shikaar said, accompanying her remark with an equally biting glare.

"Mornin' hon!" Joann said, more chipper. "I was worried you wouldn't get any pie before it went cold!"

The pie itself was untouched.

"Ma wanted to save the first piece for y'all." Rodger explained.

Joann chuckled. "My Rodger, once he starts eating my cookin, that boy can't stop!"

"It's _good!_" Rodger said.

"You didn't let Shikaar have any?" Chris asked.

"I don't want it." Shikaar said.

"She's been a curmudgeon all morning." Joann puffed.

"Yeah, well, Martin said he won't want anything either." Chris said. "He says he still feels like he couldn't hold anything down."

"And he's still goin' searchin! What a trooper." Joann cheered, turning to Shikaar to see if that would cheer her up too. She only grumbled inaudibly.

Joann cut and handed Chris a piece of the pie. It was a bit bigger than he would've wanted, but at the first bite of that golden crust and those dark berries, Chris realized it was the most wonderful pie he'd ever had, and he gobbled up the entirety of the piece. True to her prediction, Rodger handily consumed what was left, which left Chris simply amazed.

"Now I'm worried _you'll_ get sick!" Chris cried.

"Don't worry about him, that kid's got a stomach of iron." Joann laughed. "He's one every eating contest he's ever been in."

At that moment, Martin came in. He looked worse than ever, and yet he said, "I'm ready."

"You're not going to eat anything at all?" Joann asked.

"Have some toast, Martin." Chris said. "That's good for an upset stomach."

"I have applesauce, too, I've heard that's fine for tummy-aches."

"It is!" Chris said. "Martin, you really should."

Martin smiled and accepted the offer. It came down to them all watching him finish.

"So, did y'all decide if Rodger could come along?" She asked.

Chris looked at Martin.

"What?" Martin said.

"Oh, uh, we never got around to talking about that last night. Are you okay with that, Martin?"

Martin gave Chris a puzzled look. He was expecting his little brother to be more trepidatious of this prospect, but clearly something had happened that made Chris come around on their hosts. And if Chris was feeling this way, then - "It's fine by me." Martin shrugged.

"Can we all fit in that little car?" Shikaar asked.

"Oh no, honey, you're staying here with me." Joann said.

"What? Why?"

Joann put her hands on the young woman's shoulder. "While you're here on your lonesome, I'd like to take it upon myself to help you out with some of your problems. I've been watching you, and it's clear to me you need a friend to help counsel you, even be honest with you."

"My father is out there!"

"And you're no help to him with that attitude." Joann said. She shot Chris a knowing glance, and Chris realized she was doing this to ease the pressure on the brothers even more. Chris felt grateful.

"Fine, whatever." Shikaar said. "That moor is gross and dumb anyways."

"Let's set out then." Rodger said. "If y'all are ready, that is?"

They were, so they did set out, Joann wishing them luck as they left.

They drove farther along than they had last time - at least, Chris thought they did. Being in the car this time, and not the trailer, which was left behind, he could actually see where they were going. At the very least where they arrived was unfamiliar, so they were searching from a different point.

The landscape was wild and sheer as ever, though there were a more trees in this area. Chris shivered and cradled the sleeves of his coat. There was a light, wet chill to everything; it was drizzling, nearly merely misting, and the same water he felt

condensing on his face and neck made the rocks glossy and slick.

Shortly after splitting up, Chris noticed something odd. Rodger seemed to be hovering nearby wherever Chris went. Chris assumed perhaps he wasn't so good at getting a scope for who should go where, and was accidentally hanging around Chris' area. Chris tried to shoot off several times into drastically divergent routes, but Rodger was always behind at some distance. At first this made him nervous, until he realized that the whole reason they were out there was to find a missing person.

_Poor devil, he's found my trail and followed it, thinking it was Tendua's!_

Chris clambered up on a boulder and hollered to Rodger. The young man looked up, though he didn't seem so surprised.

"Rodger, hey! Stick to the sections we decided on!" He shouted.

It looked like he didn't quite hear, but guessed what Chris had said. He gave a thumbs up, and turned to sprint off in the other direction.

Chris shook his head. Rodger certainly was a curious fellow. But there was no time to think about that, now that he was off his back, Chris could focus on finding Tendua. In a stroke of luck, it seemed the immediate following moment offered a promising spot to search - Chris stopped himself right before leaping from his boulder, as he noticed at the base of it was the small mouth of a cave. Chris didn't notice it before because he had scaled the rock at a different angle, and, while he called for the Doctor into the cave and got no response, it was still worth investigating.

Chris carefully lowered himself into the hole. For a short time had to feel around for holds without being able to see, because the entrance was so narrow. After about a minute of methodical descending, his finally touched the cave floor, and he could turn around and get a look at things. Despite what the entrance suggested the cave was actually fairly sizable, and Chris could even stand up completely in the chamber. The walls made for a pretty tight squeeze, but it was nothing Chris couldn't get through, and besides, as he edged along, the chasms grew wider.

_And brighter too._

Chris blinked. That was strange. Indeed, it did seem, the further he moved, the brighter everything turned. That was counter-intuitive for how untouched caves ought to function, yet there it was, an increasing glow to everything around him.

_What's causing this?_

For a moment this gave Chris a prick of actual hope, that he had in fact somehow miraculously found Dr. Tendua, and this shining light was from some flashlight the man had down in this cave with him. But things were getting too bright to be a flashlight, or any light you could bring on your person, and to top it off, the shadows were cast weirdly, and were inconsistent with how a distant light source would throw them.

But something else began to occur. Also not in line with how things should be, the cave felt like it was getting warmer. At first it was an unnoticeable change, but a good few minutes into the infiltration Chris was sweating bullets. The air seemed to grow thinner, things shifted and warped around him, like he was getting dizzy, and when he touched his cheek it felt red-hot.

Chris knew he had to turn around. Something horrible was happening in this cave. He couldn't quite process what, until, it seemed, it was too late.

_Oh my god, the cave is on fire!_

How was that possible? The walls of the cave were wet, it was cold and misty outside, but everything around him nonetheless appeared to erupt into flames. He turned and sprinted away, scrambling as best as he could through the tunnels, but the fire followed. In fact, even going back in the direction he came, things still got worse, brighter, hotter, intenser, until, by the time he reached the more narrow sections of the passages, he could hardly see what he was doing. Where he was placing his hands, how he was fitting through, was all shrouded in a muddled and desperate light. There were arches of bright red and white light, as if the walls themselves had turned into the walls of hell. His brain felt like it was melting in more ways than one, and soon all he could think about was his fear that he wasn't going to make it out of there alive.

And yet, he persisted. He finally found himself panting on the earth of the moor, but something was still wrong. It hadn't seemed like he had escaped the fire at all, but had landed on the surface of the sun itself. His whole body felt like it was burning, and his vision was completely whited out; he couldn't make out anything, until -

A figured stood over him. They were darker than everything else, but that wasn't saying much. The color was like when you close your eyes but continue to stare at the sun - that sort of intense orange. It was a homogeneous tone, Chris couldn't make out any other features, except -

It appeared the figure was smiling.

Then Chris was overtaken by the intensity of everything, and passed out.


	7. 7

Martin was already in a terrible mood.

His intestines were throbbing and burning. His whole mouth was still infused with an acrid taste. His eyes were heavy, and his head was spinning, and every nightmare that prowled the meager portion of time he spent sleeping still lurked in waking conscience. Under these conditions he would have been far better off at home, curled up in a blanket, drifting back and forth between sleeping to watching a nature documentary, and yet, here he was, in a cold, wet, lonesome environment, searching not for cool creatures, but a man he barely knew, who in the past had done him far more harm than good. Martin originally took up this endeavor because he didn't want to be a bad person, but gradually he was realizing what a horrible mistake it had been to come here. He was feeling that the strongest now, as he drifted through the moor alone, like one of the tormented souls that supposedly haunted the old inn. He didn't want to let Shikaar down, he hated disappointing anyone, but he had taken what little resolve he had left in him to make the call that after today, it was probably best to head home.

This conclusion uplifted him somewhat, like a horse to the stable, as the prospect of returning to comfort gave him the energy he needed to complete the search and make his way to the car. Perhaps he would arrive too early, but he wouldn't have cared. He was eager to end it all, even if it meant enduring a harsh reception from Shikaar. Pushing on fir her sake would've done neither of them any good, as he eventually would have either broken altogether or withered away.

So imagine his horror when he came over that final ridge and saw that the car - which would have been his first benchmark towards homecoming - was no longer there.

He was in the right spot, he could see the tire marks in the mud. Was he late, instead of early? Surely they wouldn't have driven off without him. Maybe Rodger forgot something, and was coming back? Maybe the car was stolen?

Martin lost his fleeting drive and sank down into the grass, accepting his fate to wait for either Rodger to return along the highway, or Chris to return over the ridge.

Neither came. Martin sat for a distressingly long time. The air grew dark and cold, and Martin slowly lost the will to fight his drowsiness. There was nothing he could do, he was just stuck.

But an hour after the sky had become completely black, distant high-beams struck Martin's eyelids. He stared at them in a dazed state, unsure if he had fallen asleep and been woken, or if he had been sitting there awake and lost in time and space until now. He wasn't even sure whether or not he was hallucinating, if it was hopeful thinking filling his mind with sights of the impossible, but as the source of the lights approached, it was evident that reality was indeed presenting him with something.

He had to take the opportunity. As soon as it occurred to him that he was real, and the vehicle was real, he leapt to his feet and sprinted to the road, flagging the vehicle down. It was a semi truck that was coming in the opposite direction, away from the town. It slowed to a stop in front of Martin; he went over to the left side of the truck to talk to the driver - only remembering, to his embarrassment, he was in Britain, and the driver was elsewhere. He corrected his error, and was greeted by a puzzled and grizzled man who poked his head out the window.

"What're ya doin out here, sir?" He asked.

"I got ditched." Martin admitted. "I've been here for hours, I and I've got no way of getting back. Could I... get a ride?" He asked this sheepishly.

Now, as the writer, I'd like to make a point by saying that it is _never_ a good idea to pick a stranger up off the side of the road, nor is it a good idea to try and be a stranger getting picked up either. Martin and this trucker were both well aware of the risks, but Martin was out of options, and the driver assessed Martin, recognized how tired and unwell he looked, and decided that if the boy had ill intent, he could be easily put down. The driver unlocked the truck, and Martin crawled into the passenger seat.

"Thank you so much," Martin said, so incredibly grateful to be in this warm, dry, cushioned seat. It smelled like cigarettes and coffee, but Martin didn't mind. The driver handed Martin an old towel that was smushed up over the center console, so Martin could dry himself. The man told him not to put it on his face, because he hadn't washed it in a while, and used it to wipe off his boots.

"I'm Martin." Martin said.

"Ian." Ian replied. The truck began its journey.

"Where're ya heading, Martin?" Ian asked.

"Píosaí." He answered. "If it's too out of the way, you can just-"

The driver cut him off. "_You're_ from Píosaí? Really?"

"Well, no I... I'm from New Jersey, I was just visiting, and-"

"What for?" The driver asked.

"I - I was helping someone look for a missing relative. They were last seen there."

"Hmm, yup. That's about right for that town."

"What, what about that town?"

Ian stroked the wisps of his silver beard. "Strange town it is. Lots of bad things happen'n 'round it."

"Like what?"

"Well, fer starters, it didn't even exist till a decade'r so ago. It'was just an abandoned village from medieval times, sheep poopin' in it'n all. But there was this American lady who fled'r country aft'r bein' acquitted fer the murd'r of'r husband."

_You've got to be kidding me._ Martin thought. You can imagine, that certainly contradicted quite a bit his preexisting knowledge.

"Tha's all rumors, course. Th' people who live there get rid'f all their records from anywhere else, so you canna just look 'em up 'n fact-check yourself. But that's't I heard. But even if that weren't true, you don' hear nothin from those folks down there, it's all very fishy. No'un ev'r talks t'th outside world from that town, they're just tot'ly cut off'rm the outside world."

_So none of that could be true_. Martin thought. _Just speculation about a secretive town._

"So, what is it like there?" Ian asked.

"They seem decent." Martin said. "Just some simple small town types. A few rotten eggs here or there like in any place, but - no, yeah, it's just a quiet little town. A bit boring to be somewhere I'd want to settle, but... quiet."

"Too quiet, p'rhaps." Ian said. "Have you seen her?"

"Her?"

"Th' American lady."

"No." Martin lied. He didn't want to drag Joann's dirty secrets out in front of a stranger, especially when she wasn't there to defend herself. Maybe she had lied, maybe she hadn't. Martin was too tired to dive into conspiracy theories and, when his escort had no further questions or comments, he settled for drifting into thoughtlessness.

.

.

.

Martin was dropped off at the edge of town, and he had a lot to think about as he walked back to the inn - but he chose not to think at all. His decision to return home as soon as he could remained, and it played as almost a sweet encouragement to not worry about the weirdness anymore, because he was about to put it all behind him anyways. Noah, Tendua, Joann, the villagers, they had all been forgotten. The only mystery he still cared about was why he had been left behind, but at this point, that was only because it had created an obstacle between him and putting this to rest.

But rest was still so far away.

The lights were on in the Bed and Breakfast. He could hear Joann's unmistakable laughter from somewhere in the house.

He knocked on the door.

Through the old wood's candor he could track Joann's sound as she moved to open the door. The walls were thin throughout the house, so it was impossible to mask any movements. He shivered furiously as the creaking moments passed, his breath nearly overwhelmed with anticipation by the time she finally opened the door.

There was a grim flash of an expression on her face upon seeing Martin. It was something of a brand of disgust, but she quickly tried to wipe it away.

"Martin!" She said. "Martin." It was seemingly all she could say.

He saw Rodger over her shoulder. His eyes grew wide and he darted out of sight.

"You left me behind." Martin said.

"Yes, well, I am so sorry but... it was an emergency."

"What happened?" He demanded.

Rodger reemerged. He rushed to the door, practically slamming his mother out of the way, and pulling Martin in.

"Martin! I am so sorry. Thank God you're back!" He cried.

"What's happened, what's going on?" He asked.

"Chris fell into a sinkhole, and knocked himself unconscious."

"_What?"_

"Thank goodness I was there, too, to pull him out, or else he would've met Tendua's fate." Rodger said.

"Where is he? Is he okay?" Martin pleaded. The ugly old urge to vomit returned.

"Yes, we took him to the nearest hospital." Joann said. "It was quite far, so..."

"We couldn't come get you." Rodger finished. "Well, I was about to go get you, because we just got back, but, you seem to have taken care of that."

"Shikaar's with him." Joann mentioned. "But you can understand why Rodger couldn't wait for you."

"Yeah, no, I get it." Martin said. "Well then, come on, let's go!"

"Go?" Joann asked.

"To the hospital? To see my brother?" Martin was starting to be rejuvenated with adrenaline, so his hazy tiredness became an acute anger.

"But you just look terrible! You should get some rest f-"

"No." Martin said. "No, obviously not! You're taking me to Chris. Apparently the drive is _hours_ long, so any rest I _do_ take is gonna be _on the way there."_

"Fine." Joann sighed. "At the very least, change clothes. You look like you were dragged from a swamp."

Martin rushed upstairs. He did a little more than change clothes; he packed his things, too. He had _had_ it with this place, and as soon as Chris had served his time in the hospital, they were leaving, no matter what anyone said. It was a rush job, and he was sure he missed a few things, but he didn't care. He decided he'd go and assemble Chris' things too, but -

He tried the doorknob. It didn't budge.

_Of course! These stupid locks!_

"Hey!" He yelled, banging on his door. "Hey, come get me out! I'm stuck in my room!" No response. He could hear Joann and Rodger talking beneath him. He stomped his feet on the floor, and tried shouting through there. "Hey! The door's jammed again!"

His calls seemed to have gone unnoticed. He went back to the door, jiggling the knob and banging on it in any hope that he could get free. The door was unaffected, as were his hosts, who were not coming up to help him.

_Maybe they're getting ready too._ He thought, ceasing his rampage and wiping his forehead.

But in the new silence, he could start to make out the conversation Joann and Rodger were having beneath him.

_"...thought he'd never shut up."_

Martin blinked. Did he hear that right? He got down onto the floor, and pressed his ear to the floorboards.

_"So what're going to do?"_ Rodger asked. _"I didn't count on him actually coming back."_

_"That doesn't change anything, though. He's trapped in his room now, we can deal with him later."_

_"What if he gets out?"_

_"Quiet down, boy! He stopped movin, he might be able to hear us. Well, it don't matter if he can. He could get knocked over by a gust of wind, he's so... weak."_

_"I really don't think you're giving him enough credit right now, ma. He got here all on his own."_

_"Yeah, so now he's spent. There's no way you can come back fightin' after that. He'll be okay just held up in there. It's all gonna work out, I promise. This might even work out better for us! This way we know for sure nobody's ever gonna find him again."_

_"Unless he breaks out. Or Shikaar. Or Chris somehow -"_

_"Chris is as good as dead. You know what? So are the rest of them. Honestly, one little thing goes wrong and you lose all faith. I taught you to be better than-"_

Martin had heard enough.

Of course Joann was lying. Of course something was going on. Of course Martin would end up falling for it all, trapped and helpless all over again.

_No. It's not happening like this. Not again._

Shikaar was still in danger. _Chris_ was still in danger. Martin knew better than to waste this time feeling sorry for himself. All that mattered now was stopping the bad guys, whatever their scheme was, any way he could. The old Martin was violently revived - the one who looked for solutions, not problems, the one jumped to action and got something done. So what if this was Antarctica all over again? Martin would've endured that twenty times over if it meant keeping Chris safe.

Revived along with his determined spirit was an important revelation. Martin actively analyzing his role in Antarctica returned to him an important memory - the identity, the true identity, of Noah.

_Axel. The guy who helped Nora in his capture. _Martin's experience held captive had been for the most part the focal point of his trauma, so the harrowing encounter that started it all had mostly gone unexamined. While this realization didn't help him immediately in his escape, it at least gave him an inkling as to what was going on - Tendua must have been right when he thought this Odyssia person had found him. Axel's presence confirmed that. Perhaps Joann had ratted them out to Odyssia for whatever shady reason, and Axel was sent to tie up loose ends.

_But they won't succeed. Not if I have any say in it._

So all that was left was a way out.

Martin's creature pod was missing, presumably swiped by one of the hosts some time during their stay. The tiny window was sealed shut, and nothing in the room would be hard enough or small enough to break it open. His previous baggings had gone unheeded by his captors, so it wasn't like he could summon them up here and take them out.

_Or could he?_

If they were wanting to get away scot-free, they'd surely be eager to get rid of Martin's body as soon as he was dead. Martin presumed they were planning on killing him themselves, but he reasoned if they thought, say, that he had a terrible accident while trying to escape, they would come up and investigate.

So Martin decided to fake his own death - or, his own critical injury.

_It'll have to be believable. _He thought. He noticed there was a vent on the ceiling in the closet. It was obviously too small for him to fit through, but trying anyways would be in character with a desperate escape attempt. Martin decided how to falsify climbing on the hangar rod falling off, but first decided to set the mood. He began pacing furiously, banging more upon the door, shouting and screaming, to make it seem like he had grown desperate. While making all that noise he took a painting off the wall. He grabbed and dragged his wicker chair to the closet, and crouched up onto it. He grabbed the closet pole with both hands and pushed down hard, so that it creaked as if he had stepped up onto it, and then- while letting out a fake and frightened cry, he kicked the chair over, and banged the corner of the painting frame into the wall, such that it sounded like he'd hit his head. He let himself roll away from the closet so he was positioned on the other side of the door.

And then - complete silence. He was as still as he could possibly be, listening as Joann made an inaudible comment about what the noise was.

The villains below him too grew deathly silent. Martin held his breath, praying that this had worked.

And then - footsteps on the stairs. Someone was coming up.

Martin readied himself as he heard the key being turned in the lock. The door was thrust open, nearly hitting Martin in the face as it came between him and Joann.

"What on earth-" was all she had time to say, before Martin came up behind her and hit her in the back of the head with the painting. She fell to the floor, knocked out cold.

Martin stared for a moment in disbelief. He wasn't one to resort to violence, and, even after plotting this out in his head, the actual practice of it was far from comfortable.

But Rodger calling to his wicked mother called Martin back to action. This was far from over, and the most crucial was yet to come.

He took the unconscious innkeeper's keys, and locked her in the room.

Clobbering an old woman from behind was one thing. Now, he had to save Chris, save Shikaar, potentially confront Rodger or even Axel on the way. For all Martin knew, this could lead to something even worse than what he had already experienced.

But I reiterate - Martin was willing to endure it, twenty times over.


	8. 8

Martin faced no opposition coming down the stairs. In fact, Rodger was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he realized what had happened, and had run off to take care of something important before it was too late for him - and that wasn't necessarily a good thing. From how it sounded, Chris and Shikaar were somewhere in the house, so he had to find them, fast.

First, he grabbed the poker from the fire place, which was lit, and casting the living room in a golden glow, as if Joann and Rodger planned to have a comfy, cozy evening after all the ghastly things they were planning to do. Whatever, her hatred for them by now was a given. He wanted to have something to protect himself, or at least make himself not come off as so defenseless, since Martin, as much as he wanted to bash Rodger and Axel's faces in for what they'd done, was determined to resolve this with as little violence as possible.

There weren't too many places to look. He ran into the hallway that preceded the breakfast room. He had the two other doors to investigate. He tried the nearest, the one to his left. It was locked, so he used on it the swiped keys. Upon opening it he found, to his dismay, it was nothing more than a bedroom - Rodger's, presumably. It was disturbingly bare of any personal items, but on the bright side it made the room easier to search. There was no one in the closet, or the bathroom, or under the bed. Martin moved on.

As Martin approached the other door, he realized he could hear Rodger through it, but only faintly, which surprised Martin, since all other parts of the house were so audibly open. _This is promising, then._ Martin thought, realizing a more sound-proof part of the house was the likeliest place to keep captives.

The door was already unlocked. Martin rushed in, brandishing his poker. It was an office of some kind - Rodger was by a desk in the center, talking on an old landline phone. He was surprised and terrified, dropping the phone to the ground. Martin grabbed Rodger by his shirt collar and slammed him against the wall, which was just one large book case. One of the shelves jabbed Rodger in the back, and he yelped in pain.

"_Where are they?_" Martin demanded, recoiling his weapon like a baseball bat. Rodger put up little resistance. He pointed to desk.

"Th-there's a basement under there."

"Help me move the desk." Martin said.

Rodger nodded frantically, and was dropped to the floor. He fell to his hands and knees, but staggered to his feet soon after, assisting Martin in pushing back the heavy centerpiece, then rolling away the carpet.

Sure enough, there was a trap door there. Martin grabbed Rodger by the arm and half-pulled, half-pushed him back into the hallway. Martin took the man's keys too, then locked him out of the room.

Martin unlocked the trap door. It opened with a great, uneasy groan. He followed the stone stairs down into the stone basement.

"_Shikaar!"_

She was tied to a chair in the center of the room, and gagged too. He rushed to her and freed her.

"I'm so sorry, Martin." She said. "I can't believe I was such an idiot!"

"Trust me, I feel like one too." Martin said. "We'll have plenty of time to talk about what we have in common after we get out of here."

"We have to help Chris he's - oh नहीं, he might be -"

She glanced somewhere, then turned away out of distress. Martin followed her gaze.

He hadn't even noticed him.

Chris was just dumped into a corner, discarded like trash. He was limp and his body was contorted, like he had fallen dead then and there.

Martin had been holding himself together pretty well despite how tired and still somewhat ill he was. But his weathering willpower was showing every now and again, like now, when he failed to hold down a guttural cry, which splintered and shuddered about in the dark basement. He rushed to his brother's side, turning the motionless Chris onto his back.

He was breathing. _Thank god, he was breathing. _But his breath was shallow and slow, and every other aspect of Chris pointed to the fact that he was in immediate danger. His whole body was gripped in an intense fever, and his heart was beating disconcertingly fast. He didn't just look unconscious, he looked like he was trapped in a nightmare - his face was twisted into its most vivid expression of distress, despite the rest of Chris being totally and completely unresponsive to everything else. Martin pulled one of his eyes open. The pupil was extremely dilated.

"He was poisoned." Shikaar explained from across the room. "With deadly nightshade. It was in his piece of pie."

"How do you know?" Martin asked.

"Joann took me into the garden while you all were out. I recognized the berries where she was growing them. That's when I realized - and that's where she -" Shikaar trailed off. "मुझे माफ कर दो, Martin, I'm so sorry."

Martin was paralyzed with horror. If he had been poisoned for so long, how much time could he have left? How far away was the nearest hospital, really? Could they get there in time?

"Yes!" Shikaar cheered. Martin spun around, utterly baffled. Shikaar was off in the opposite corner of the room, examining what appeared to be an old furnace for a water heater.

"It's a coal furnace!" She said. "And there's coal in here, this is perfect!" She reached into the furnace, flinching a bit from touching the hot rocks, and pulled out a handful of black, chunky dust.

"Activated carbon can help stop a lot of poisonings, including Nightshade!" She said.

"How do you know that?" Martin asked.

She shrugged. "Dad was paranoid. He made me learn about all kinds of things like that."

_Thank you, Tendua. _Martin thought.

Shikaar made her way to the brothers as quickly as she could without spilling her load.

"So, what, we just shove it down his throat?" Martin asked.

"Pretty much." She said. "Please, please let this work."

They opened him Chris' mouth and, a little at a time, poured in the carbon. Even so deeply unconscious, Chris was reflexively able to swallow. Martin wondered how much he would need, and when they'd need to stop, but Shikaar seemed to continue on with absolute confidence, so Martin trusted that she knew the right amount.

"So now what?" Martin asked. "How long will it take?"

"I don't know." Shikaar said.

"Either way, we shouldn't stay here."

Shikaar nodded. Martin took Chris up into his arms, while Shikaar retrieved the fire poker. "The car keys are on the key ring I took from Rodger." Martin said, as they ascended from the basement. "We'll just steal the car and get out of here."

"Wait, what about Rodger? Or Joann too?" Shikaar asked.

"I don't think he'll be-"

The thought Martin could never finish was instantly proven wrong, after they traversed the hallway and came into the living room, only to find themselves at gunpoint by Rodger, who had taken the Elephant rifle off the wall.

"_Not another step."_ He growled.

"Rodger, you don't have to do this," Martin said.

"Oh, like you're in any position to _weigh in._" Rodger snapped. "Put your hands in the air."

"I can't." Martin said. "I'm holding up my brother."

"I don't give a rat's ass! Put your hands up, or I'm shooting all of you here and now!"

"Okay, okay." Martin gently placed Chris on the ground, then put his hands in the air. Shikaar too dropped her fire poker.

"So, what are you planning to do? Shoot us? Hold us until your little backup arrives?" Martin asked.

Rodger grinned without giving reply. It was the first time he'd seen Rodger as his true self, and it was sickening. There was a twisted villainy to his whole person, but also an excited desperation. Rodger didn't seem to think he was in control, but he didn't care.

_Oh my god, he's getting off on this! _Martin thought.

"Look, I get what's going on here. Axel's working for this Odyssia person, on who knows what, and you stumbled into it, so you've been dragged into doing their dirty work, haven't you? You think this is fun, this is a game, but you're in way over your head just like the rest of us!"

Rodger laughed. "You have no idea what you're talking about! This has nothing to do with me! This has nothing to do with you! We sold Dr. Tendua out for a bit of _cash_. Momma wanted to _fix_ _the roof_. You're the ones who've stumbled in, and thanks to your dumb luck, we're getting another payday."

"_You're disgusting._"

"You think that! This town is a dump, the people here are _trash_. They come seeking refuge, but nobody wants to work for that right. You know how costly it is keeping things together, keeping everyone under control?"

"Under _your_ control?" Martin asked.

"Whatever, we don't have time deal in semantics."

"_Where is my father, you घटिया इंसान!_" Shikaar shrieked.

"That old man? We're still thinking about him, huh?" Rodger laughed. "He's already dead. My friend Axel snapped his neck and buried him."

Shikaar sobbed.

This lit up Rodger's face, so enthralled was he with his ability to cause Shikaar's torment, he was like a baby put in front of jingling keys. "The bag of bones was so easy to deal with. He thought he was being brave! He went straight back to Axel, and declared that he was done running, that he'd face head-on all his mistakes! That killed him of course. We ground up his body and used it for fertilizer."

Shikaar fell to the ground in tears. Martin stood horrified at what was being said, but he also got a knowing chill up his spine. Tendua hadn't returned to find a wild cat, or retrieve a personal item. He had come to end it, one way or another. It had to have been for Shikaar, to find some way to set her free, to give her the life she could never have, so long as she was tethered to him.

But Martin had lead her right back into it all. This was the last thing he wanted.

_You would know where to go_, was what he had said to her. It wasn't a request for her to try and find him. He was telling her that she could trust herself to start life all over again.

_And I messed that up._

But he had a chance to fix it.

In a split second, Rodger was distracted by something. Some sound, that made him turn his head.

Martin had gotten an opportunity like this before. In Antarctica, while Nora was gloating, he tried to use that moment to get away, but it never amounted to anything.

But too much was on the line now for him to not take that risk.

Martin charged Rodger, knocking him to the ground. The gun went off, but hit neither of them. Martin and Rodger wrestled for control of the gun, with Martin having the advantage of being on top, but Rodger having a stronger grip.

_This could take forever, and go either way, _he thought. He had to make a call. He didn't like what he settled on, because it meant the still unconscious and vulnerable Chris would get left here, but it was all he had.

"_Shikaar_! Grab the car keys out of my pocket and go! Go get help!"

Shikaar nodded, wiped her face, reclaimed the fire poker and ran up to the combatants.

"_Oh no you don't!"_ Rodger tried to get out of the fight to stop Shikaar, but Martin held him down, and used Rodger's new motivation as a chance to land a few hits. Shikaar grabbed the keys, and ran into the atrium. He heard a bit of banging where she had went, but couldn't see what had happened, only hearing that blessed sound of the front door slamming as Shikaar escaped.

Rodger too tried to use Martin's brief change in focus to his advantage, but it was short lived. Martin finally was able to get the gun completely. He lifted it up over his head and smashed it down onto Rodger's face, with a force so great it broke the old gun into pieces. Martin then staggered to his feet, panting.

But Rodger was not as affected by that hit as it seemed. He grabbed one of the unbalanced Martin's feet and threw him to the ground. Rodger then got up and began running across the room.

"_NO!" _Martin screamed. He was worried Rodger was trying to get to Chris, to hurt him, but in a strange turn, Rodger went to the fireplace. He looked quickly at the other tools next to it, and grabbed the tongs. He reached into the fire place, and grabbed a flaming log, likely wanting to throw it at Martin. But the wood had been weakened with char far greater than Rodger anticipated, so instead of being tossed neatly, it exploded into the air, sending blazing embers flying across the room.

In its old, decrepit state, the house lit up in an instant. The fire spread hungrily across the carpet, reaching and engulfing the furniture in mere seconds. Rodger shrieked and ran to the atrium, pushing Martin back down to the ground on his way out.

The fire seared Martin's hands, and he jumped back in surprise. The fire reached the ceiling, and the timbers groaned and sizzled, threatening to fall down upon him from above. Martin scrambled to get to Chris, determined to get his brother out before he got engulfed.

The good news was, Chris had stirred. He looked around from where he lay, dazed and confused, then terrified, as he processed the fire around him. Martin scooped him up in his arms, then slung him across his shoulders, bearing him like a firefighter. The whole process was slow-going, Martin was weary from his illness the night before, and from his more recent brawl with Rodger, and Chris, despite being thankfully alive, was still limp and useless. By the time Martin got Chris fully situated, it was too late. The fire was too big between them and the exit, he couldn't cross it without lighting the two of them up like a candle.

_Where do I go now? _He thought.

He turned around. _The basement!_ Unlike the rest of the house, it was completely stone, and completely archaic, meaning there was no chance of electrical fires or gas leaks happening down there. It was his only shot - but he had to move quickly, the fire was steadily engulfing that route, too.

He hauled his brother across the hallway. Everything was bright and smoky; he knew for his safety he should he crawling, but there was no way he could get Chris across that way too.

He grabbed the door to the office, but the knob burned his hand. He yelped and jumped back, but the added weight of Chris made him fall completely backwards, sending the both of them to the scorching floor. The boards around them snapped up, sending embers hurtling into the air. Chris wheezed and gasped, but then, managed to start getting back up. Martin hurriedly helped him with the rest of it, and, instead of going for the doorknob, bashed up against the door with his bodyweight, until it burst open. Then, half-carrying Chris by the shoulder, he led him back down into the basement.

The air was surprisingly not thin, it was cool and breezy, compared to the dreadful fire above. The ghastly flickering light filled the room, but it was like a ghost, a phantom of its real intensity.

He sat Chris down, and crouched next to him.

_"Chris."_ He said firmly, but quietly.

Chris coughed. "Where am I, where's the cave?"

"Cave? What cave?"

"I was in a cave, and it was burning, but now I'm - what time is it, how long has it been?"

"Chris, you were poisoned."

Chris blinked. "I was?"

"Yeah, by Joann and Rodger. We were... more right than we realized."

Chris stared blankly forward, as Martin tried to explain what had happened. Martin was worried Chris was still too weak or out of it to process what was being said, but to his surprise, he nodded knowingly after Martin gave his account.

"That's... a lot." He said. "So Shikaar's gotten away?"

"I think so." He said. "I hope so."

Chris sighed. "So now what?"

_Now what? _The two of them were stuck there in the basement, waiting for Shikaar's help to come. Martin had no clue where she'd go, who she'd seek, how long it would take, but he and Chris were dependent on it now. There wasn't anything more they could do - was there?

Chris looked around. "I remember this room." He said quietly. "Where's the cave?"

"What? What cave?"

"There was a cave, there -" he blinked confusedly, "I could've sworn, I remembered it, there - I felt a breeze, or something, but I - " he paused, "I can still feel it. Where's that breeze coming from?"

Martin suddenly noticed it too. The air should've been getting warmer and thinner, but it wasn't. It had maintained its temperature perfectly, cool and light and actually forming into an occasional draft.

Martin got to his feet.

"It's coming from -"

He returned to the corner that he'd first found Chris. There was a large crate of some kind against the wall, that wasn't noteworthy when Martin had originally looked at it. But didn't meet the wall in a way that was natural or believable, it cast a strange shadow on the wall. Martin crouched down and pushed it aside.

Behind it there was an opening in the stone, well big enough for a person to fit in. The cavity went as far back as Martin could see, and that breeze came through it palpably.

"Martin, what is that?" Chris cried, staggering to his feet.

"Our way out," he said. He backed up so Chris could get a good look at it. "Do you think you could manage getting through there?"

"Maybe," Chris said, "are you sure it's a good idea? We have no clue where it goes."

"Anywhere has to be better than here."

As he said this, a burst of flaming wooden splinters came tumbling down the basement stares, likely as something from the office above finally gave in to the heat and toppled down.

There was a bigger crash, and even more fireballs came pouring in.

"We have to go." Martin said. "_Now!"_

Chris got on his fours and scrambled into the tunnel, Martin moving quickly being him. Before he could get in all the way, a rogue spark hit his arm and seared it - Martin yelped, but pressed on.

The tunnel was long and grew dark quickly. Both boys scraped themselves on the walls of it frequently, as they tried to squeeze through. It was sloping downwards, deeper into the earth, farther from the sun. The ground became muddy, then wet, then flooded, at one point Martin was up to his neck in cold water. It was refreshing compared to the terrible fire, but Martin became worried that they were just taking themselves into a drowning demise.

But Chris burst out into a big chamber shortly after the water got neck-high, splashing wildly into a large cave pool. He couldn't entirely see where he was going, so the sudden drop of the ground beneath him as the slope plunged into the lake bottom was startling. Martin slid out into the water more gracefully, and helped a sputtering Chris get to the stalagmite covered shore.

There wasn't _no_ light. The burning fire seemed to permeate even through the tunnel, and lit up the cave just enough for them to see. It was a big cave, decorated modestly with rocky formations, and it echoed totally with the residual splashes from the brother's swim, and the bubbling of some fresh cave water elsewhere.

"This is quite the exit route." Chris said.

Martin collapsed exhausted onto the floor. He knew he could keep going, see where the cave ended, but he didn't want to. He was done. It was done. They were fine here for now, safe and still and tired and limp and scared and in the dark and deep under -

"Martin," Chris said. "Martin, what's wrong?"

Martin had started crying. He was so dazed be had barely noticed. At first it was a soft, shaking whimper, but as soon as Chris said something it all came bursting out. He burying his head in his arms and began a terrible, shrieking sobbing.

He had been so wrapped up in survival, in getting his brother to safety, in putting an end to this ridiculous plot, his brain hadn't had a second to even consider how overwhelming it all was, how much Martin was _not_ okay, but since it was all over, it just hit out of nowhere.

"Martin!" Chris cried again. "Hey, what's -" Chris had to take a pause. His head was still swimming, and he got a little dizzy trying to jump to his brother's side.

"We never should've come here," Martin sobbed. "We never - I wasn't ready, and I'm not okay! I just made everything worse again."

"Martin, that's not true!" Chris cried. "You saved us!"

"We weren't supposed to be here, but I was just so _eager to help! _And now look at what happened."

"Martin, we stopped the bad guys!" _I hope so, anyways. _"That's got to count for something, right?"

"Does it? It didn't last time! Wilfred and Nora are both dead, but I see them every time I close my eyes, they just keep coming back! And all of that was my fault too, so-"

"_That isn't true!"_ Chris said.

"Why not? Why shouldn't it be? It's probably good that it was, you know, as much as it sucks, at least you didn't have to deal with it!"

"Martin -"

"But now, I think I can play hero one more time, but this time I've just dragged everyone with me, but you shouldn't..._ you shouldn't have to go through that kind of stuff, I shouldn't have allowed it!"_

"And why not?" Chris snapped. "What on earth makes you think you have to deal with this on his own?"

Martin shot Chris an angry, broken stare that shook him to his core. "_You know what he did to me Chris? Do you really want to know any of that? I don't think you'd be saying that if you knew."_

Chris gave a challenging stare. Martin leaned forward, face shaking, eyes bulging, mouth pulled back into a sorrowful snarl._ "He liked to cut me open, and play around inside. He'd take bits of me out, and put other things in, and he'd sit and watch to see what would happen. I don't even know how much of my own body is still mine, he just did whatever he wanted with it, and I couldn't do anything, I couldn't move, I couldn't speak, I couldn't fight, I couldn't -"_

His words turned to rambles, his rambles turned to uncontrollable sobs. He hadn't broken down like this in a long, long time. The coldness and darkness were bringing him back to it all, and his stress as boiling over.

Chris sat in stunned silence. This was the first time Martin had told Chris what actually happened to him down there. Chris knew it had to be bad, he knew Martin had been affected, but to hear the details of it, to know Martin went through_ that,_ was deeply disturbing.

Chris grabbed Martin, and held him. Martin didn't hug back, he didn't have the strength to, he just curled up in Chris' arms. He wasn't used to being comforted like this, normally he was the rock everyone leaned on. But this felt nice. He was still sad, but it felt nice.

"Martin, you didn't deserve that." Chris said. "You didn't. You didn't. You saved us all then, and you saved us all now. You deserve nothing short of happiness, and I..." Chris began to tear up too, "I'm sorry you didn't get it. I tried to help you, but I didn't help enough."

"Chris, you've been great. Just knowing you're safe is enough, that's why-"

Chris shook his head. "It shouldn't be, though! That shouldn't be enough, and it hasn't been. You don't - you needed more than that. You helped all of us, but you still feel terrible, because terrible stuff happened to you." Chris pulled away. "And I can't make up for that, no matter how much I want to."

"You don't have to." Martin said. "You never had to, not for me."

"You didn't either, but you did, and you're just... better at it." Chris stammered sadly. "I thought... when we were escaping, when I gave you that mask, I thought I was gonna die. And I was okay with it. It freaks me out to think back on it, but if I had to do it again... even if I wasn't guaranteed to survive... I'd do it, without hesitation. You're... the better of both of us."

"Chris!" Martin protested, horrified.

"Martin, I know I'm not the most popular between the two of us." He sighed. "You have this power to connect with people, make them laugh, or smile or be invested, and I... don't."

"Chris, that's not true!"

"You're the one who'd be able to make a difference here!"

"Chris!"

"Martin, don't get me wrong, I love my life, I love my occupation. But I love you too, and I don't want you to have to keep cleaning up after my mess, my injury, and then getting in trouble for it."

"Chris, I don't understand! You're not the mess here!"

"I was careless! I was careless, and I-" Chris stopped and cradled his trembling mouth with his fist. "I should've known better. I should've gotten to my seat, I should've been careful, I should've _been there_, because if I _hadn't, none of this would've happened to you!_ It's not true that it was your fault, because it was _mine!"_

Martin stared in shock. Never in a million years would he have blamed Chris. It was strange to hear even the notion, and it almost put things into perspective. If Chris was blaming himself unfairly, then maybe - maybe Martin was, too.

"Chris, you know what was the worst thing that happened to me?"

Chris looked up, sadly. "There was something even _worse?_"

"I'm not saying this to make you feel bad." He said. "It was when we were escaping. It was after we were out in the water. It was - it was turning around, and -" the tears which had subsided somewhat resurfaced, but they weren't uncontrolled or hysterical. They were soft and caring and bitter, like the sea just before dawn. "_It was turning around, and seeing that you weren't following me. It was trying to get you out of the ocean, and to safety. It was pulling you onto the sand, and thinking... __thinking I had lost you, after just getting you back."_ Martin closed his eyes tightly as that worst of memories came back, of him realizing what had happened to the blue mask, ripping it off of him, cutting through the dark ocean with Chris' limp body dragging behind. It had haunted his dreams, scarred his heart far worse than Dr. Wilfred's procedures, or Nora's ambush, and considering how terrible those had been, that was saying a lot.

Chris reached out again. "But you saved me," he said. "Just like always. Just like now."

This time, Martin shot forward, and pulled Chris into a hug. He held on for dear life, sobbing and sighing.

"It wasn't your fault." Chris said. "Even of it was, I'd forgive you, _again and again and again_."

"It's not your's either." Martin gave a tearful laugh.

"Martin, it'll be okay, okay? You weren't doing well at all when we first got you back, but you've been yourself more and more every day. It doesn't matter what got taken out or put in, because even if it hurts, even if it keeps you up at night or makes you cry, you're still _you_, and I'm still me, and we're still here for each other."

Martin smiled. "You sure you're not the one who can connect with people? Because damn, that was a pretty good speech, bro."

"I thought we were having a moment."

"You made me feel better."

Chris sighed. "Yeah, and that's pretty cool."

It didn't last long.

Martin pulled away from Chris, his attention drawn to a sound that was approaching in the tunnel. Someone was crawling through, and was about enter.

"Martin, what -" Chris spun around, and noticed what was going on. "Who is that?"

"I don't know, but stay back." Martin rose to his feet, a last reserve of strength being called up to protect his brother one last time. Chris was still weakened, and if this was a hostile, he was in no shape to face it.

_Maybe it's help_, Martin hoped.

With a great splash, the figure tumbled from the tunnel and into the lake. Martin tensed as the visitor, who was too shrouded in darkness to identify, swam forward. Martin backed away from the water's edge, backing sure still he was between Chris and whatever was coming.

_If Chris was right, I've saved him before. And I can do it again._Martin tried telling himself this to swallow his fear, but it wasn't doing much good. _No matter what, I'm standing my ground._

And he held that determination, he held it tightly, even after the arrival breached the water, even after his imposing shape came stomping up onto the cave floor, even after he gave Martin a wicked smile, and pounded his fists together.

"Well, well, well," Axel Neely sneered, "I _thought_ I'd find you boys here!"


	9. 9

"_Axel."_ Martin snarled.

Axel clapped. "So, you figured it out, huh?"

Chris started. "_That's Axel? Like, Axel Neely? Like, Nora and Axel Neely?"_

Whoops. Martin realized he'd neglected to tell Chris that part, when trying to recap him.

Axel laughed. "The one and only! Now, if you boys wouldn't mind, I'd like to _finish this."_

"What good is that going to do you?" Martin asked. "Shikaar's left for help, you're gonna get caught." Martin was stalling.

Axel laughed. "Yeah, that little slippery thing. I can't believe she got past me, too. Well, it's not like whatever she gets can save you."

"I don't get it, what did we ever do to you?" Chris asked. "I thought this was all about Dr. Tendua!"

Axel, for the first time, let genuine rage burn across his face. "_You two killed Nora! My girlfriend is at the bottom of the ocean because of you!"_

"Oh, right..." Martin said. "I forgot about that."

Axel roared and hurled himself at Martin. Martin turned and tried to tell Chris to run, but before the words could escape his mouth, he was knocked to the ground, and pinned there by Axel's boot. Chris didn't need to be told, though, he stumbled away.

"Where do you think you're going?" Axel yelled. He stepped off of Martin, and began stalking Chris, not even running after him, so confident was he that he could catch him and dispose of him.

Martin leapt to his feet. "_Hey! _I'm the one who killed her, I delivered the final blow. So take it up with _me!"_

Axel turned around. "You know, I get the impression that both of you little bastards are to blame, but if you want so badly to_ go, then we can go."_

The two squared off. Axel gave him a taunting gesture, encouraging Martin to throw the first blow, but Martin wasn't taking the bait. He stood his ground. Axel shrugged, then viciously threw a punch. Martin ducked, using his experience of navigating unpredictable environments as an advantage. He went for an uppercut onto Axel's gut, and -

Well, let's just say that advantage didn't last much longer.

Martin's hand shattered on impact, getting crushed inwards on itself, like he'd just punched a brick wall. He fell to his knees, clutching it and screaming bloody murder.

Axel laughed. "You like that? Yeah, my boss made these really cool black metal cells, that just have so many uses! My sweet Nora, you know, had a whole plume of the stuff, she could control them telepathically, and me?" He grabbed Martin by the throat, and lifted him in the air. "She replaced all my blood with it, which makes me stronger than _steel!"_

Chris had been trying to plan a sneak attack, but this threw a wrench into it. _I have to save Martin, soon, _he thought, ducking behind a rock formation, _but I have to be clever about it!_

These would be difficult things to balance. At first, Axel seemed content just trying to crush Martin's windpipes. Poor Martin clawed at the grip with his good hand, wheezing for air desperately. But Axel laughed and dropped Martin coughing to the ground. He hardly had the time to recover before Axel kicked him in the ribs so forcefully it threw him into the water.

Martin hit the shock of the cold, and was tempted to give up, to sink down and let the water take him.

_No. Protect Chris._

He restabilized himself and swam out, standing once again to face Axel, though he could only hold one hand up in a fist.

Axel glowered. "You're just going to keep coming back until I kill you, aren't you?"

"Something like that," Martin growled.

Axel pulled his lips back into an animalistic snarl. "_Works for me,"_ he said through grinding teeth.

Axel was not fast, but Martin was dizzy, so he still couldn't respond to Axel's advance. Axel punched him in the face, and Martin dramatically staggered back. His whole face felt like it had been pulverized, and Martin, in half-dazed worry, thought it was going to fall off.

Axel struck again. He grabbed Martin by the shoulders and kneed him in the gut once, then twice, then threw him on the ground. Martin heaved a bit, but nothing came out in the end. He would've definitely thrown up, if the night before hadn't left him dry and empty.

Martin came up to his elbows and knees, grimacing in pain, trying to rise all the way.

_Where's Chris?_ He wasn't sure if he was worried about that, because he wanted him to be long gone, or because he wanted his help. His head was spinning too much to tell, but all he could think was, _where's Chris, where's Chris, where's Chris?_

Another hit was landed. This time, Axel kicked Martin in the gut, flipping him into the air onto his back with great force. Martin gasped sharply, and then - well, something else was coughed up, not vomit, though still warm and wet.

"_What happened to always coming back?_" Axel sneered. He lifted Martin by his shirt collar, which was already stained red by the blood that was dripping from his mouth. Martin had no words of reply. Axel smiled.

He punched Martin, striking his gut one last time. Martin doubled over, a bigger burst of red spraying out. With a whimper, his legs gave out beneath him, and all that supported him was Axel's iron grip.

He dropped Martin.

"Now, where's that little brother of your's?"

_No._ Martin begged his body to move, but it was beyond its limits. Every movement he tried to make just sent a pulse of pain into his core.

Axel looked around the cave, and at first, hadn't spotted Chris, because he was searching at eye level. But he quickly caught him higher up - Chris was climbing one of the rock formations, intent on jumping down on Axel from above.

Axel smirked. "_There you are!"_ Chris was unfortunately not out of reach distance. Axel swung and Chris, and while Chris at first managed to dodge the villain's hand's attempt to seize his leg, he didn't have many places to go from there, so his ankle, which was just sticking out mid-air, was swiftly caught again.

Chris was yanked from his perch. His body flailed in the air, his leg twisting violently around Axel's grasp. His head hit the floor first, with the rest of his body contorted unnaturally above it.

Martin tried again to get up. Nothing came of it but more pain.

Axel threw Chris to the floor, and knelt over him. He turned to Martin. "You know, I'll enjoy this, beating his smug little face in. I might even hold back a little, see how long I can stretch this thing out for. You can time me if you want!"

_This can't be happening._ Martin was paralyzed again. Before, he was frozen, having to watch terrible things be done to himself. But, watching terrible things be done to Chris?

_There has to be something I can do. Could I just... get anything, please?_

Martin beheld his brother's expression. It was such a strange thing, so ethereally unplaceable. It did not lack emotion, far from it: it was tinged with fear, desperation, determination, but that was not its nature. It was an declaration unto itself, uniquely born and rendered, a direct imparting that traveled not through the space between them, but within Martin's own uninterpretable spirit. He got the message, but could not translate it into words or reason.

_I know how to defeat him._ It said.

_How? _Martin pleaded in his heart.

The first fist struck Chris' face. That should've broken the spell by all means, but as soon as the batterer recoiled, Chris instantly readjusted his gaze, returning it to Martin. His brother's intent was reestablished, more fiercely this time, and Martin was compelled, as if commanded by a king, to rise to his feet.

He did not know quite what he was doing, nor how. The way he carried up his buffeted body was miraculous to say the least. In retrospect Martin would justify it with a phenomenon he heard about, where someone gained super strength in a moment to save someone they loved, like when parents lift cars off their children. Time slowed down in the strangest way. Martin knew he was running, fast too, spurred on by powers he did not understand. Axel, who had struck Chris twice, then a third time, was unrelenting, not pausing, and being approached with frightening swiftness. But Martin could feel in himself every heartbeat, every steady breath, every time one of his feet made fearsome contact with the cave floor, pushing him forward to another stride. He felt like a beam of light and a tumbling boulder all at once, as if time and speed and distance and weight and effort and reason altogether did not exist. As Martin ran along he caught glimpses of reality and groundedness, from the odd stumble on an inconsistency in the cave floor, or from noticing that Axel and Chris were parked by a sloped ravine, but nothing shook him from his charging trance, not even the fourth landed punch, which finally incapacitated Chris from looking at his brother.

Axel had his arm cocked, folded and raised above his head for a fifth punch when Martin, whose charge had gone unnoticed, collided with him. Chris too had forced all his weight upwards onto Axel, digging into his abdomen with his knees, which alone was doing nothing. But in that moment, Axel was as unbalanced as he ever could have been. Martin's collision sent him tumbling into the ravine.

The rocks themselves did not do damage to him the way they would have to anyone else rolling and smashing into them. Axel's skin was, after all, rock-hard and impenetrable. But what Chris had figured out was while his circulation had been enhanced, his skeleton had not, so in his tumbling it was ravaged by his own internal weight. His blood broke his bones.

Axel came to a rest at the bottom of the ravine. Chris and Martin both stared in disbelief. They waited fearfully for their enemy to recover, but he did not. Full minutes passed of them waiting, waiting for a deadman to rise.

And then Martin laughed. He laughed, and cried, and laughed and cried. He slumped over to his side, his right hand propped up on its elbow stiffly and uselessly, blood still dripping down his chin. He look at Chris. He laughed even harder.

Chris stared at Martin in bafflement, and first worried a spell of madness had come over him. Maybe it had, but it rolled away, Martin's laughter fading as he stared at the floor.

"Yeah, that'll do." He said.

Chris smiled, and came up to his knees, ignoring the sharp pain shooting up one of his legs. He gave Martin another hug, this time tilting his brother's head and shoulders forward. Martin wrapped his one lifted arm around Chris' back, but couldn't bring it all the way around, what with its shattered wrist.

"Hey, is it just me, or is it getting darker in here?" Chris asked.

Martin looked up. "You think?"

"Yeah," Chris said, "light isn't coming up from the tunnel anymore." Chris staggered to his feet. He almost fell back, but he readjusted himself, bracing his bad leg and taking a minute to breathe. "I think the fire's stopped."

"Maybe." Martin said. "Hey, could you help me up?"

Chris obliged, grabbing Martin's good hand and hoisting him up.

They both fell over.

Martin laughed some more. "Boy, he kicked our asses, didn't he?"

Chris laughed too. "Yeah, he did." Chris looked back at the chasm. "Do you think he's -"

"I don't know." Martin tried to get back up on his feet, but he collapsed again. This time, Chris put his arm under Martin's shoulder and around his back, lifting him up that way. This was more successful, though Chris had to limp and stagger along.

"Yeah, it really looks like the fire's stopped," Martin wheezed, once they had walked and waded over to the tunnel entrance.

"You think you can crawl through there, the shape you're in?" Chris asked.

"Can't do much else _but_ crawl."

"I wonder if Shikaar's arrived with help by now," Chris said.

"Let's find out." Martin said.

.

.

.

Aviva was getting really tired of being pulled in to help the brothers, only to show up after it was too late for her to do anything.

It felt good to finally be able to take the Tortuga somewhere. She had just finished it up a few days ago, and gathered Koki and Jimmy for its debut journey. But when they touched down at the address Martin had given her, it was a grizzly scene. The whole building was burnt to the ground, and the plants around it were ashes too. There was a hoard of firefighters scouring the premises, and on the ground beyond the ruins, there were two wrapped and scorched dead bodies.

The responders were greatly confused by the arrival of this strange turtle ship. They approached Aviva as she came running out.

"Miss, you can't be -"

"The two, there, are they Martin and Chris? They're friends of mine, they were staying here, are they-"

Her pleas caught the attention of someone who was amongst the workers, who was not dressed like a firefighter. She was Indian, with big curls of smokey black hair, and an intense, worried gaze.

"You know Chris and Martin?"

"I do."

"They came here to help me. I'm... Shikaar."

Aviva frowned. "So, _you're_ the one who dragged them into this?"

Shikaar looked at the ground. "Please, not that, not now. I learned my lesson."

Aviva for some reason felt sorry for the girl. It wasn't usual for her to accept an apology so swiftly, with such little pieces to have as its context.

Koki and Jimmy came running out after Aviva, holding eachother's hands with worry.

Shikaar pointed to the two bodies. "That's not your friends. Those were Joann and Rodger Walsh, they were... not good people." She held back on saying _they killed my father._ She didn't want anyone's pity.

"We don't know where your friends are," a worker stepped up. "We're still searching the house, but someone's also been sent into town to see if they went there."

Answering this concern on cue, there was a shout from the house.

"Someone's coming out of the basement!"

And there, the Kratts emerged.

The brothers were battered, covered in cuts and bruises, Chris was limping profusely, and Martin's lips and chin and neck were washed with blood. But they had their arms around each other, and were laughing and joking, as if they had both left a party or something. They were still gravely injured, but in shoulder's embrace and genuine smiles, they were supporting one another.

"Chris! Martin!" Aviva cried. She ran to them.

They both looked in surprise.

"Aviva, what are you - what is the Tortuga - what?" Chris began. He looked at Shikaar. "Did _you_ get them here?"

Shikaar shook her head. "Nope, just the firefighters. You're still welcome though."

"The creature pod system was the last thing we got up and running," Aviva explained. "We were worried when neither of you answered." She rubbed her arm guiltily. "I didn't want to come down here because I thought it would just end up a useless trip back into Martin's trauma."

Martin shrugged. "It started out that way."

"But, we came here as quickly as we could!"

"You two look terrible." Koki said.

Martin grinned. "You should see the other guy."

"What other guy, who did this to you?" Aviva demanded.

"Oh, Axel Neely. You know, the _other_ one who abducted me."

"He was here?" She cried.

"They're both taken care of? That's a relief." Jimmy said.

"He's still down in the cave under the basement, in a chasm." Chris informed them all. "We don't... know if he's alive or not."

"Ugh, Paul had better not get on my case about this." Aviva groaned.

"Sorry, I don't mean to interrupt your reunion," one of the workers said, "but these two look like they need some medical attention."

"Keen eye," Aviva said sarcastically.

"He's hurt worse than me." Martin said to the aides, patting Chris amiably.

"Are you kidding me me?" Chris shot back. "Do you _know_ how badly you'd been hit?"

"Eh, I got punched in Highschool, college too. All the time. Neither have any of us been _poisoned_ before."

"Sir, you know we're gonna medically check you both?" Said one of the workers, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, looks like you've got just one ambulance though. Take him first." Martin said, with a tired sigh, helping Chris into the hands of one of the first responders.

But as soon as Chris was out from under Martin's arm, Martin groaned in surprise and keeled over to the ground. The poor soul who had taken Martin's human crutch had to cradle it in one arm and reach out to the fallen Martin with another. Hunched over on his elbows and knees, Martin nobly tried to tell the crew who was rushing to his side "I'm fine, I'm fine," but his deep wheeze was replaced with another spurt of blood from his mouth. He then passed out, collapsing completely.

"_Martin!"_ Aviva cried. She knelt down at him. She looked up at the workers. "Where's the nearest hospital?" She asked.

"It's a 45 minute drive," one of them said.

"I can get him there faster." She said.

"Right," the same one said, "flying turtle ship. Can I get two of the EMTs to go with her, please?"

"I'll come too." Shikaar said, as they all made their way to the Tortuga. "It's my fault he's here, so I want to help."

Aviva only nodded and smiled. She had her doubts about this girl from what she'd heard about her, but there was something about her straightforwardness and determination that was refreshing.

"We'll take this one in the ambulance," another EMT said about Chris despite his protests. "He's injured, but not as critically, it seems, plus I doubt you're ship is equipped to handle _two_ injured people in the capacity we need."

"That guess is correct," Koki said. Chris protested again, but he was hauled off to the ambulance.

Aviva caught a look from Chris before her entourage was closed away into the Tortuga.

She had always marveled at the brother's ability to be on the same page about so many things, how they could almost seemingly read eachother's minds.

Chris, it seemed, was extending that ability to her, just this once, just out of necessity. She looked in his eyes, and knew what they said.

_Take care of Martin._

_I will_, she said back.

.

.

.

Two days later Chris was released from hospital care. He didn't need much - stitches for his face, surgery on his leg and a more thorough removal of the poison in his system. He felt so exhausted stepping out of that bed, he was almost tempted to lie back down in it. But Aviva, Koki and Jimmy were all there, to encourage him on. Besides, someone else was waiting on him.

It took another two days before they could see Martin. Obviously his hand was broken, in about fifteen different places. More seriously, his entire digestive system was trashed, both from Axel's blows, and from "other strange circumstances."

"It was the weirdest thing," the doctor said, "we looked at the organs he had in his body, and a lot of them didn't seem to be... _his_. We can't tell for sure because they were all so damaged, we're replacing them anyways, but if you want we can do a DNA test to figure out -"

Chris raised his hand. "Yeah, Martin and I know why that is. I don't think he'd want you to go down that rabbit hole, though, so maybe just... toss them and forget them forever?"

Everyone stared at Chris horrified, at first. Aviva put the pieces together though.

She scrunched her face. "_That's_ what Dr. Wilfred did to him?"

"Who's... that." The doctor asked.

Koki and Jimmy had figured it out too, and all agreed it was gross. They told the poor doctor it was a very touchy and private story, and it was best if he didn't worry about it, outside of making sure the invasive parts hadn't done any other damage to Martin, which, surprisingly, turned out not to've.

Of course, they talked later about it amongst themselves, mostly annoyed that the first doctors who tended to Martin after they rescued him from Wilfred hadn't noticed the replacements.

Finally, they were able to see him. Chris was worried the vision would break his heart, like it had when he visited Martin following the Wilfred incident. Martin had looked dead inside, pale, haunted, and deeply uncomfortable, presumably because being in the hospital bed was only reminding him of his time trapped in that wretched facility.

But this time, when Chris came limping in on his crutches, he was pleasantly surprised. Martin was practically glowing, and gave a big smile when he saw his friends arrive. This was a far cry from the Martin who had hardly spoken, averted his gaze at any means necessary, and shuddered horribly at anyone who tried to touch him, only slightly relenting when it was Chris.

Martin still looked tired and ill and like he needed to stay there for another week, but he was so smiley and chatty that Chris wouldn't have been surprised if Martin got up right there and started dancing.

The mood only came down once.

"What happened to Shikaar? Where is she?" Martin asked.

Aviva looked at the floor. "We don't know. As soon as we made it to the hospital, she ran off."

Aviva went on to tell them what happened. Aviva was watching Martin be wheeled away, past the point where she could not follow. She put her hand on her heart in despair, and felt Koki and Jimmy's hands on her shoulders. She rested her head on one of them, she didn't really know which, and it didn't really matter.

But she heard something, the squeak of sneakers behind her. She turned, and saw that young stranger make her exit.

Aviva wanted to run after her, but something held her back. It was like she was watching a baby turtle make its way to the ocean for the first time, and she couldn't interfere, because it was nature.

Martin hummed thoughtfully at this story.

"Back into the wind, just like her father was," Chris said.

"Maybe, maybe not." Martin said. "She'll know where to go."

"I hope so," Aviva said. "I hope the Raptor Commission leaves her alone, too."

Martin spat. "Screw 'em! I don't care if they're listening, screw those guys!"

This sentiment was met with _hurrahs_ and _here-heres_, and the conversation changed into all the different ways the Commission had pestered them during the break.

Time went by very quickly, and it wasn't long before the nurse came in and told them all Martin needed his rest. Martin protested, but he had lost a bit of his energy, so his objections weren't very serious. Before they were fully escorted out, though, he insisted on getting one last word in.

"Hey, Aviva? When I get out, when my hand gets better, and Chris' leg does too, I think I'm good. I think I'd like to go back to work."

Aviva cocked her head. "Really? You're sure?"

Martin smiled. It was the biggest, most content smile he'd shown all day. "If Chris can too." Chris gave a thumbs up. "Then, yeah! I'd like to." Martin said. "It'll be nice, returning to normalcy."

Aviva smiled, and nodded. Then they all left Martin to rest.

Chris sighed when he was beyond the door. Things would never be the same. Martin's trauma could stay with him for a long time, and they'd all have to deal with that. Chris wouldn't be surprised if the two of them got new trauma from this latest encounter.

But Martin thought he'd been broken, unfixable, the pieces of his mind and heart just floating aimlessly out of anyone's reach. But that wasn't true, it never could be. Martin wasn't just a sheet of glass that shattered under the weight of the ocean, he was a shining light, a pioneering spirit, a brother, and a friend. Martin had everyone, and everyone had Martin, and all of them were better for it.

Chris smiled. It was small, and no one saw it, though everyone was happy enough that they might as well have.

_Welcome back, bro, _he thought.

.

.

.

Axel was not dead. The firefighters found him at the bottom of the chasm, critically crippled and easily subdued.

He was wanted on many charges; Interpol was stoked to get their hands on him, because the Raptor Commission had made that very difficult, what with him being some "person of interest" of their's or something. But the proper authorities had him now, and had control of him. They sent him to a secure hospital, and once he was recovered again, they were locking him away for good.

Axel had been angrily staring at the walls for days, since the moment he woke.

He knew he'd been caught. He knew he'd been beaten.

_Those Kratt brothers! How did they do it?_ He couldn't make sense of it. Those two together were outgunned by him and Nora _individually_, so how then, had they taken them both down, without fail?

He thought this day in and day out, practically driving himself into madness, losing all sense of time and sense and purpose. He was defeated after all; when he woke, the medics told them they'd drained him of his powers, all his artificial metal blood. He was a normal man again. A man who was going to prison for the rest of his life. He had nothing left, but to waste away, pondering those insufferable brothers who had taken everything from him.

But then, there was a night. A night, existing? It was a rare and dreadful occurrence, when he was sucked down into grim reality. Why'd he been taken from his trance? Who dared to return him to time?

Maybe it wasn't reality. He gawked in terror, as the shape of his old flame loomed over his bed.

"Nora?" He gasped in surprise.

"You look pathetic." She said.

"I thought... you were dead!"

She snickered.

"Where have you been? Why didn't you come back to us? Why- " he paused, and reevaluated himself. "You're not real, you're not... you can't be."

"Whatever you want to believe," she said. Behind her, that imposing plume of black liquid metal rose.

"What are you doing?" Axel cried.

"Oh, I'm killing you," she said, "as a declaration of war."

Axel could only stare in astonishment. "On who?"

"Odyssia, mostly. I discovered something when I was on my own - I don't need her, you know? She's been holding me back this whole time!"

Axel loved Nora in his own way, so he didn't really realize what danger he was in. He thought he could reason with her. "But Odyssia gave you your power! Doesn't that mean anything?"

"Sure, she did, and it's a neat little toy. But ever since I got it, it's been do this, or go there, which is a drag, you know? I've got a new life plan, and I'm not letting anything get in the way."

Axel's eyes bulged. "What is it?"

"Oh, you know, revenge. On Osyssia, and the Kratts. Which, is actually why I came here to kill _you_, I wanted to ask real quick, I heard you recently had a run-in with those two! So, how are they doing? Don't tell me - they did this to you?"

"Wait, you're not actually going to kill me, are you?"

"That's the plan," Nora said calmly.

"But - you can't!"

"You're stalling. Just tell me what I want to know before I get impatient with you."

"How could you? I thought you loved me, I thought we were lovers!"

She tut-tutted him. "See, that's too bad. I've been told I'm a psychopath, and psychopaths _can't really love."_

_"Wait, let me join-"_

And with her horrid black liquid, she smothered him. He had been bound to his bed to keep him from breaking out, so he couldn't writhe as much as she would've liked in a victim. Still, she watched him suffer and fade with gruesome curiosity, so interested was she in the demise of a creature who had been duped into thinking she cared for them, who was once so powerful but was stripped down to a helpless mortal, who for so long had given up on his life, but, at the very last moment, had begged for it.

He was nothing to her, alive or dead.

She released his corpse. She left as much of her sludge behind as she could. She wanted everyone to know she had done this - Odyssia, the Raptor Commission, and maybe those Kratt brothers, though that message might not reach them so handily - which suited her well, she was coming after them first.

She was coming for them all, eventually. But those were just side projects, little hobbies, a pass time spent musing about. For the brothers, she had done extra, careful plotting, paid most attention, and was thoroughly passionate about reaching them and destroying them, painfully, slowly, _spectacularly_.

It was all coming together. She would hit them in their hearts, drag them off into the dark, and do all other manner or horrible things.

They didn't fear her. They didn't even know she was coming. Thankfully, they'd have some time of blissful ignorance, before things went wrong once more.

But that, her horrid revenge, will be saved for later.

She slipped out of the hospital as secretly as she had slipped in. She drank the moonlight and dappled stars, and couldn't keep a delighted, cruel chuckle from slipping out.

She thought, deep down in her disturbed and sadistic heart:

_Great things are on their way._

_._

_._

_._

_UNTIL NEXT TIME, FIN_


End file.
